


shoot for the stars

by Joy_sent



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Bisexual Lance (Voltron), Drama, Fluff and Angst, Gay Keith (Voltron), Gender-Neutral Pronouns for Pidge | Katie Holt, I don't know what I'm doing, Lance (Voltron) is a Mess, M/M, Pining Keith (Voltron), Pining Keith/Lance (Voltron), Pining Lance (Voltron), Romance, Self-Indulgent, Some R rated moments if I feel like it, Writer Lance (Voltron), discussion of anxiety and depression, klance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-11
Updated: 2020-10-05
Packaged: 2021-03-01 18:09:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 39,995
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23591368
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Joy_sent/pseuds/Joy_sent
Summary: Lance becomes a famous writer of the most coveted romance novels after he moves away from his hometown to pursue his dreams. However, his life takes a twist when his workload increases and his girlfriend leaves him. After a dark point in his life where he finally reaches rock bottom, he is advised that maybe going back to his hometown would help his mental health improve. Back home, he reconnects with his friends and family. Walking a stray path, Lance decides to turn his life around. With Keith's help, he wanders a new path, ready to overcome his fears and face life head-on, ready to shoot for the stars.
Relationships: Keith & Lance (Voltron), Keith/Lance (Voltron)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 45





	1. A New Beginning

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first time publishing something here and it is definitely self-indulgent, so I hope you like it! I love klance and really wanted to write something that spoke to me as I have read a lot of good fanfiction here (:  
> The story may be slow at first, and I'm still deciding what path I want to take this, but it will definitely pick up soon!  
> I am also experimenting a bit because this is a platform I've never used before so expect longer chapters next time!  
> Any feedback is welcome!

There are many things in life that Lance is grateful of.

One of the first and most important of course, is his family. Without them, he wouldn't have become the person he is today. Without them, he wouldn't have understood the joys of sharing with his siblings and feeling the affection that he received while growing up. Without them, he wouldn't have nailed that scholarship in a program of creative writing thousands of miles away from home. He is grateful that his family gave him the opportunity to grow and pursue his dream, no matter how far away he was or how he was jumping into the unknown.

He is also grateful for his gift in writing. If he hadn't nailed all those extracurriculars in high school or excelled in college, he wouldn't have made a name for himself. But he had a "marvelous gift", as his mother calls it, and he was able to publish his first book a few months after graduating. It was nothing much, really. He never thought it would pick up. One morning he went to the Barnes and Noble next to his apartment complex and found his book in the darkest corner of the romance section. One morning a month after, his book made its way to the front section of "Bestsellers" and "New rising author". He remembers his mother and sibling video-calling him excitedly, telling him that he was famous. It was one of the few times Lance was left speechless.

It was a good run, he had to admit. He liked that his phone blew up with notifications to the point where he had to silence notifications. He liked the publishing deals from different editorials. He liked that everybody was talking about him, he loved the attention. He was a sensation on the internet, and because of his snarky and quirky personality, his fame increased. Everybody knew Lance McClain, the author of romance novels, the passionate kid that nailed his success early and was set to publish another book. And after that one came another one, and so on. Lance loved the attention, but in hindsight, it was meant to be his downfall.

Another thing Lance is grateful for is his ability to fool everyone. He is always the life of the party, the funny guy, the one who is never sad. So when the doors slide open, he pulls his best smile, ready to meet his family at the terminal of the airport, because he has finally done it. He has finally achieved the one thing he has feared since he left: he has broken himself.

"Lance! Here!"

His mother's smile is beaming, shining brighter than everything else in the room and for a moment, he feels like he can breathe again. Nothing heals better than the smile of a mother. He runs towards his family, leaving his suitcase midway and melting in his mother's arms. Veronica and Rachel follow, holding him tight. He can feel Rachel's tears seep through his shirt, but he doesn't care because he is shedding a few of his own.

"It's so good to see you lil' bro," says Marco, his grin matching his mother's.

"Uncle Lance!" Nadia and Sylvio run to him, from where Lisa is standing, next to Luis. They reach his arms at him, laughing as they give small jumps for him to pick them up.

"Hold on guys, you are bigger than the last time I saw you!" Lance laughs, picking Nadia up with a loud huff and pulling Sylvio into a hug. The boy barely reaches hip. "I've missed you so much!"

"We missed you too," says Veronica, giving him a fond smile. "How was your flight?"

"Oh you know, fine," he explains, putting Nadia back on the floor and hugging Lisa. Luis gives him a hard pat on the back before pulling him into a tight hug.

"We are so glad you are home, Lance," his mother says after wiping the tears off her eyes. "The house is not so loud without you."

Lance laughs wholeheartedly.

"Of course you would miss my beautiful voice," he says, linking an arm with her. "Shall we?"

☆☆☆

His house is just as he remembers. The cheap white paint turned beige from time, family pictures flooding the walls and a few scribbles that were either forgotten or hard to mask with the paint. The same smell, which meant he was home. A combination of old and new. The kitchen had been remodeled to be more spacious after Lisa and Luis got married, but it still had the same pots and pans, the same flower vase that his mother picked from the garden after Rachel had started growing them in the garden. The fridge was covered with new drawings, signed by Sylvio and Nadia. His mom had also placed a family portrait up top of the wall that lead to the dining room. It was the last picture they took before he left. The same dining table stood near the window, sunlight filtering through. It was the same as he remembered. He is finally home.

"Uh, Ronnie?" He calls from the kitchen, turning around at the perfect moment to see Hunk and Pidge walking through the open door. His eyes widen, a smile spreading widely. "Guys!"

He runs to them, engulfing himself in Hunk's hug as soon as he hits his broad chest. He had forgotten how good Hunk's hugs were, but he will make it up for it from now on. Pidge punches him softly in the arm, a small smile in their face as they pull him for a hug as well. That part is new.

"Lance, I'm so glad you are home!" Hunk says, wiping a few tears that threaten to fall.

Pidge snorts.

"You said you wouldn't cry."

"I can't help it, okay? I missed my best friend."

"Awww, buddy, I missed you too," Lance says, going back for another hug and pulling Pidge along in the process. They laugh, holding each other tightly. After all, it had been a long time since Lance had reveled in being with his friends.

He was glad he was home.

"Are you ready for the party?" Pidge asks, their smile still there, even after they are forced to help with Lance's luggage to his upstairs room.

"I think that was meant to be a surprise," Hunk whispers.

"Not really;" Lance answers, "after all, Rachel boasted about how she was the one planning all the parties since I left and that it was going to be an absolute blast."

"It definitely will be," Pidge laughs.

They open the door to Lance's room and enter, leaving the bags on the foot of the bed. It is exactly the same baby blue he has had since he was a child. The same dumb posters of the bands he used to like in high school. The same pictures of him, Hunk and Pidge. Some pictures of him after winning a literature award, some of him and his family. There were some awards in his walls as well. It still smelled dusty and his. Nothing was moved or arranged since he left. A tinge of melancholy pulls in his gut, making him gulp loudly. He was finally home. He can relax now. It would be good for him. Or at least that was what his therapist told him.

"Man, this is weird," Hunk says, rubbing his hands together. "It's been a while since the last time I was here."

"I think that was the last night before Lance left, right?" Pidge chimes in, grabbing their chin and making a pondering expression.

"When we watched all the stupid rom-coms we could find?"

"Yep," Lance says, smiling. He plummets on the bed, staring at the ceiling. Even the glow-in-the-dark stars are still there, ready to guide him as far as he wants to go, to achieve his dreams. He already did though; it was not as rewarding as he thought it would be.

"Everything all right?" Hunk asks, sitting next to him. Pidge sits on the other side, giving him a pointed look.

He knows he can't hide it from them forever, the reason why he came back, but he can at least pretend until he is ready.

"I'm just glad to be back home," he says with a smile. A smile that could be a little bit real this time.

Rachel is indeed, a very good party planner. She has everything arranged when they go back downstairs and only has Lance sit while everyone puts on decorations and sets the table. His mom is inside the kitchen along with Marco and Veronica, cooking some empanadas and other appetizers; Hunk and Pidge squabble about the karaoke machine that seems too old to be able to be fixed. Lisa, Luis, and Rachel go inside and out bringing more and more decorations and place them around the house. Meanwhile, Lance is in the garden, playing soccer with Sylvio and Nadia.

"Uncle Lance, here!" Exclaims Sylvio, running to his side; in the meantime, Nadia takes advantage of his cluelessness and takes the ball, scoring a goal. They squeal and laugh. Lance throws his hands in the air.

"Hey, that's cheating!"

"No," Nadia answers with innocent eyes. "You just didn't pay attention."

"It's because you're old, Uncle Lance." "What?!" Lance screeches, placing a hand on his chest, looking offended.

"How dare you? I am in the epitome of my youth!"

"No!" Sylvio laughs at his theatrics. "You're old!"

They chanted that for almost an hour.

When guests start to arrive, Lance is not so sure anymore that coming back was a good idea. Leave it to good ol' anxiety to throw him into overthinking every single choice he has made the last six hours. He can already feel that towering pressure on his chest, pressing against him, ready to push him against the floor and leave him breathless. Thankfully, Hunk and Pidge are beside him in no time. His mother occasionally steals him back into the kitchen so that he can taste the empanadas before anyone else, giving him time to breathe. His mother smiles at him knowingly.

"You will be fine, hijo."

And he doesn't understand why, but those reassuring words are what gives him the courage to go back in there.

He beams when he sees Allura, her perfect white hair cascading in a braid through her shoulder. She screams when she sees him, running to him and taking him into a hug that lifts his feet off the floor. They laugh and she takes his face into her hands as if she couldn't believe that Lance was right there. "It's been so long, Lance!" She says excitedly and invites a girl with blonde hair and dark eyes next to her.

"I wanted to formally present you two guys!" The girl has a sheepish smile, her cheeks rosy as she runs a hand through her hair. She extends a hand towards him.

"Nice to finally meet you," she says. "I'm Romelle."

"Nice to meet you too!" Lance says, shaking her hand excitedly. It feels like it was a few days ago when Allura told him that she had met a cute girl at her work. They had talked through social media before, but never met in person. "You're so much prettier than what Allura leads on."

"Hell yeah, she is," Allura says, smiling widely. Romelle laughs, shaking her head. "She is also a huge fan of yours," Allura says, winking at Romelle, whose eyes widen in surprise. She gives Allura a soft punch and a stern look.

"Why would you say that?" She whispers at Allura and then turns to Lance. "I'm so sorry! I do like your works, but I don't want to make you uncomfortable." Lance smiles.

"Not at all!" He says. "You don't have to feel weird about it. I am thankful that you like my books." She smiles at him, a little bit more sure of herself.

Allura spots Hunk and she takes Romelle to greet the others.

"Lance, my boy!" Coran looks the same, his orange hair styled back with a bang on his forehead and his pointy mustache as unmovable as ever. He hugs Lance and smiles brightly. "It's been a while, hasn't it?"

"Yes," Lance says. Veronica comes by and greets Coran before giving Lance a cup and winking at him. He snorts; they really are going all out now that they are even giving him alcohol.

"How is the big city? I heard that you make a deep impression with your books! Not so bad kid!"

 _It is actually horrible. The city is so hollow_ , Lance thinks to himself.

"Oh, well, it's fine," Lane smiles. "It is nice. A lot of different people. A lot of good food. The perfect place to get lost."

Coran smiles and wastes no time in rambling about a time when he too, was a young man in the big city and was scammed by a group of circus travelers. Lance laughs, and soon, Hunk and Pidge are there to bother Coran. Lance sips from his cup, the strong taste hitting him immediately. He takes a content sigh. He is surrounded by his family and his loved ones. What else could he ask for?

He spends the time sipping from his cup, replenishing it every once in a while until he is on his fourth cup. Coran still tells them about funny anecdotes when suddenly, the door opens again, Shiro walking in. His hair is darker now, the white strip of hair still falling loosely over his face. He smiles at Lance's mother who was about to get out of the kitchen. And the Keith comes in. He hasn't changed one bit, his mullet wrapped in a ponytail at the back of his head, his eyes still as sharp and purple as ever. He notices Lance's mother and offers to help, going into the kitchen with her. Lance furrows his brows.

"Shiro decided to bleach his hair after a few white hairs started to appear last year," Hunk tells him after he sees the man walking towards them "Adam kind of joked that he was getting old and Shiro took it to heart," he grins.

Lance smiles at that.

"Lance!" Shiro says, pulling him into a tight hug, which Lance corresponds. Shiro is still as buff as he remembers.

"I am so glad to see you again!"

"I am too! How is Adam?"

"Oh, great. He couldn't make it, unfortunately. He is on call tonight. But he did tell me to invite you over for dinner some time."

"I will gladly accept," Lance says, imitating a reverence. Shiro and the others laugh.

He takes a look at the kitchen, but can't see either Keith or his mother. He starts feeling the pressure again, but this time, it is not from anxiety. He excuses himself and walks outside to the front porch, taking in the cold air. Night has fallen and the moon shines brightly at the horizon. He takes a deep breath, putting his arms on the fence that leads to the entrance's stairs. He may or may not be feeling nervous. After all, it has been a while since the last time he saw Keith. And after all, he may or may not had shared a few firsts with him.

If he was truly honest, coming back home was not his idea. His therapist had advised him that maybe stepping away from his current life would benefit his mental health. Because it was all rainbow and sunshine when people talked about him on the internet. Everybody knew him as the famous author of the most coveted romance novels of the era. His family was proud of him, but Lance has always been a perfectionist. He never thought of himself as a good writer, let alone a good person. He was never good enough, so it baffles him to see people praising him. But as much as he is a perfectionist, he is also an overachiever. So the deadlines kept coming and coming, as well as the pressure from the fans and the people on the internet. Plus, his heart got broken, betrayed by one of the few people he trusted the most. How was he supposed to deal with all of that? The overwhelming sense of discomfort, of fear, clouded him in his everyday life and soon he was admitted to the hospital. It is all a blur, really. He doesn't really know how he ended up with his therapist, but he is glad that he did.

So no, coming back home might not have been his idea, and it bothers him greatly, because he knows he is not ready to come forth and tell his friends about this unnerving fear that consumes him daily. He is not ready to burden his family with his broken heart and his broken self. He is not ready to see Keith again.

But life never gives you what you want. It gives you what you need.

"I think it is the first time a party is thrown in your name and you are nowhere to be found."

Lance turns around, surprised, with his eyes as big as plates and his breath freezing. He finally takes in Keith's presence, his red jacket on his shoulders, black jeans hugging his thighs and boot with, if Lance is not mistaken, a little bit of heel. Lance lips quirk up. Keith probably is still butthurt that he is smaller than what he says he is. But what catches Lance the most is that Keith is still as breathtaking as ever. He has a small lopsided, smile, a beer low on his hand, his chin raised a little to match Lance.

"I needed some air," Lance answers truthfully.

"Too much?" Keith asks, scrunching his nose. It is still as cute as ever as well.

"Yeah," Lance looks at his feet, embarrassed.

It might be the alcohol that makes him light-headed, but he finds pleasant the way his heart beats against his chest. Can Keith hear it? Can he see how fast it's beating? Lance feels like it will rip out of his chest at any moment.

"Well, it's been quite a while since you left. You didn't even come visit once," Keith says, taking a sip from his beer and walking up to him, standing next to him, facing towards the house.

"It was hard," Lance imitates him, "with school and all. And after that, I was signed and published. It has been hectic since then."

Keith tilts his head as if pondering what to say. But he doesn't need to say it. Lance knows what he wants to say. _Hectic enough to not visit your family?_

"Well, you are home now."

It may not be the best way to comfort Lance, but just as his mother did, Keith's words reassure him and calm the nerves he has been feeling since he got off the plane. It is dangerous, however, as he feels like he can drop the act right there and then, but he knows he can't. He can't just stop pretending and lay everything on Keith. He will probably freak out and run away, just like Nyma did, just like his editor, when he asked for less workload and instead got his ass handed to him. He chose this life. Now he must bear with it.

"Yes," he says, sipping from his cup. "Yes, I am."

He understands the bittersweet feeling in his heart. But the smile that Keith gives him lightens the whole porch and lifts him up. Maybe it was not his decision to come back home, but he might as well take the opportunity and change his life around. And who knows. He might finally leave the slump he is in. He might finally get the break he deserves. He might finally understand the true pleasures in life. And when Keith laughs at something he is telling him, he can't help but feel like everything will be alright.


	2. Reminiscing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was initially very long but decided to crop it and use the other part for the next chapter. I still don't know where I am going with the story yet, but I really like how it is coming out so I guess we'll see!
> 
> Most of the experiences and feelings that Lance has throughout this fic are based on mine, and just as Lance, I am in the process of healing as well. I hope that if anyone has gone through these kinds of experiences or these emotions, that you find this encouraging (at least!). 
> 
> If you have any feedback or kudos or anything, it is appreciated! Thank you!

Because everything in life comes so unexpectedly, Lance didn’t have time to brace himself for what would be the best and the worst part of his life. When he was contacted by his current editor, the first thing he did was to thank her for choosing his story. He never thought that something as lousy as his writing could be picked out of thousands of other interesting stories that could appeal better to the audience.

“Don’t mind it kid, what matters is if you can pull it off in the market.”

Soon after, he called his mom, and his mom called Ronnie, and suddenly he was speaking through Facetime to all of his siblings at once, being congratulated by his achievement. Marcos joked that maybe like this he would finally find a girlfriend. Rachel countered by saying that he was too obnoxious and too much of a perfectionist to deal with. Veronica reminded him that he should follow his heart and find someone that feels right.

After a few months of his first book being a hit, he decided to ride the momentum and write something else. This time he allowed himself to experiment a little more with his prose and he was met with his editor’s approval. He was high in the sky every time he was called for an interview or when he saw his name in social media. He had finally achieved his dream and he couldn’t believe he was living in it; it had only been three months since he finished what seemed to be the hardest days in university, a time where he busted his ass off by maintaining a perfect academic record, a sustainable job in retail and somewhat of a stable social life. He couldn't believe that finally, he had become the writer he always aspired to be. And soon, with the fame, came the connections, and connections meant parties. Lots of high-class parties to celebrate god knows what, but Lance has always been the light of the night; he loves dancing and he loves meeting new people, so of course, you would find him there. It was that kind of life that you either had, or you didn’t and Lance wasn't going to let this opportunity go to waste.

It was in one of those parties that he met her, silky, hazel hair flowing through her shoulders, a purple pin on either side of her head; her eyes were captivating, luring you in as if she held all the wonders inside, ready to show you unimaginable things that could be yours if she deemed you fit. She was gracious, looking at him with a small smile on her lips as she pretended to pay attention to what the guy at her side was telling her. Lance should have known right then and there that she was dangerous. He should have known that love is a fire that warms, but if left unattended, it could consume everything in its path. He should have known that pretty eyes that hold wonders are usually meant to be left in mystery, never to be touched or sought for, as they consume your soul.

He remembers walking to the balcony, a long space that leads to the most gorgeous sight he’s ever seen. The city stretched far to the horizon at his feet, the lights twinkling in the night. He filtered out the noise from the music blasting inside of the penthouse and took a deep breath. Closing his eyes, he let his mind wander somewhere else, allowing himself to feel the tingling sensation that the wind left in his skin. It was summer then. A fine summer night when she decided to step out and enlighten him with that gorgeous smile that dwelled between enticing and mischievous, and that made him numb and sometimes stumble over his words a little, but he still managed to get a laugh out of her. And it felt great. For the first time since he left his hometown he felt like maybe, just maybe, he found someone else that made him feel like he mattered. It felt right.

Nyma, he soon discovered, was an artist as well. She worked for a company that provided murals for developing businesses to attract customers. Being passionate about her job, she was enamored with life and shared the same joy that Lance had for it. She was that kind of person that did the job not for the money, but for the satisfaction of helping others, and that selflessness had Lance swooning on his feet. He couldn't understand why, but he felt that this girl was his fate and he was destined to be right then and there. He also discovered that she was a mysterious person. She would never reveal her secrets until she felt like it was right, and she had Lance guessing over and over the meaning behind her words sometimes. It scared him, to not be able to be as reliable as he found her and always being the one sharing with nothing in return. But she told him not to feel bad about it. That he was perfect. That he was everything she had dreamed of.

It wasn't until one of his books didn't achieve as much merit as the others when he started noticing the subtle signs that maybe this fairytale story wasn't as perfect. Nyma always encouraged Lance to take pictures with her and post them in his social media accounts and she dragged him to most of her galleries, taking professional pictures together. At some point, they garnered enough attention for people to start talking about their romance. People speculated that Nyma was the muse to Lance's stories, that she was the one that made his books come to life. And although it wasn't true, Nyma took it to heart. She would always ask Lance about how important she was for his books, that if he hadn't met her, his book wouldn't be as good, which made Lance upset. He would argue sometimes that he had worked hard to write those stories and that they came from his own, but she would always refuse it, claiming that she made his stories better, that she had given him enough to write a hundred books because there was no way he would find someone like her again.

In a sense, she was right.

When Lance started feeling overwhelmed by the deadlines and the miss of his last book, he tried to go to Nyma for help, but she was constantly telling him that it was in his mind, that he had nothing to worry about. That after all, he was famous and that his money would fix everything. Money became an aspect of their relationship, always appearing as glamorous as others and attending the fanciest parties, all because Nyma wanted to show everyone that she could have anything she wanted, that Lance was his. Overcame with anxiety, Lance asked his editor for a hiatus, but she declined, telling him that he needed to pull this off after that failure of his last book. Overcame with doubt, Lance asked Nyma what did she ever see in him, why she decided to date him. She just laughed and said superficial things like "You are funny" or "I like your body", but never truthfully answering him. It confused him because he always saw more than that. Nyma was strong and he loved her passion for her work. She was fun and mysterious and she always brought a new perspective to life that Lance never knew it had. He admired her for who she was, but apparently, appearances were most important to her, and that feeling if "right" suddenly lost its meaning. He didn't know anymore.

So he ran away.

The beach had always been a calming place for him. He loved being surrounded by water, and it reminded him of those summers he spent in Varadero with his family. He associated it with home. He loved the sensation of sand under his feet, linking him to the earth before his mind could wander somewhere else, reminding him that he was right there and that he was breathing. Finally breathing after having yet another fight with Nyma. Finally breathing after not answering his editor's calls because he just couldn't do it. He couldn't keep up. He didn't feel like moving on because frankly, the pressure on his chest had been killing him for almost a year now and he didn't understand why. Why, if he had finally achieved his dream, if he had finally become the writer he always wanted to be, if he had finally found the most beautiful girl that wanted to date him, why he didn't feel happy. Why couldn't he be like everybody else and appreciate what he had? Why did he feel so lonely, even during those nights when Nyma was sleeping right next to him?

☆☆☆

Waking up to the knocking of his door, Lance rubs a hand through his face and yawns. He extends his arms over his head as he moans from satisfaction. It has been a while since he was able to rest this good. Veronica peaks her head through the door, a warm smile on her face. He looks at her with narrowed eyes, squinting a little at the light filtering through the door.

"I was wondering if you wanted to come with me," she says, coming in and bringing a cup of coffee to his nightstand next to him and sitting at the foot of his bed. He sits against the wall and smiles at her, taking the cup of coffee.

"Sure, where are we going?"

"I have to take the truck to get it fixed. Something about the engine or whatever," she says, waving her hand dismissively. "And I was thinking that maybe we could have some brother and sister time," she smiles mischievously. He snorts. It has been a while since he talked with Veronica. Sure, they texted a lot, but being next to her always brought Lance to his senses. So he nods excitedly.

"Let's go then."

They get dressed and get in the truck. It still smells of the old mint fresheners that his mom buys, linked with memories of him and his siblings going to the lake during the summer, or going upstate to see the snow during the winter. He is washed away by the past experiences that he takes a moment to take it all, to remember and let that warming feeling in his chest spread and relief some of the pressure he has been feeling since he arrived. Veronica drives them to a small restaurant that serves breakfast all day. This used to be an arcade before he left, but he appreciates how some of the machines are still laid against the wall for customers to play with. Veronica chats a little while their food is served, talking about pleasant nonsense, but Lance can feel that she really wants to ask something because she is tapping her foot. They share that characteristic; they tap their foot when nervous.

"It's been a while since we talked like this, hasn't it?" She smiles, thanking the server as she lays a plate of waffles in front of his sister and sets his french toasts in front of him. He thanks her as well before saying,

"Yeah," and after a moment of silence, "I missed this."

"Well, if you had come before, maybe we could have done it sooner," she says, stuffing her mouth with a big serve of waffles and whipped cream. He looks at his plate. He knows that he shouldn't feel offended by that because she is right. He knows that she doesn't mean it that way, but Lance can't help it when the guilt flushes through him. He shouldn't have let the fame blind him the way it did, he was clear about that now that he had missed so much.

"I know," he says, defeated, taking a bite from his french toast.

"I'm sorry," Veronica replies softly. She looks at her plate, indecisive for a moment and then takes a deep breath. "Mom told us about..." she struggles for a moment to find the right words, scrunching her nose and frowning deeply, trying to not mess it up. It is endearing how much she cares about not messing it up, though; Lance smiles, feeling grateful.

"Yeah," he says, rubbing a hand behind his neck before taking another bite of his french toast.

"Yeah... And I don't understand much, but I have been researching, and I want you to know that it is okay for you to feel that way."

Lance snorts, getting a frown in response.

"Wow Ronnie," he grins with that usual spark of deviousness, "so textbook."

"Well, I can't help it okay," she exclaims, throwing her hands in the air and almost hitting a server. Lance bursts out laughing as his sister blushes furiously and apologizes over and over. the server says it's fine, but he still glares at her every time he passes their table.

"It's cool," he says after he wipes some tears from laughing. "I don't understand it either, so we are in the same boat."

It is a white lie, but Lance rathers not getting into the details of his... well, whatever it is he has.

"I still want you to know that we are here for you," she says, taking his hand in her own and rubbing a finger over his knuckles. She used to do that every time Lance came home from a particularly bad day, consoling him every time a girl rejected him; she used the gesture even when he came out to his family, giving him the reassurance and the courage he needed.

"I know," he answers, dipping his french toast in maple syrup. "It is kind of hard for you guys to mind your own business anyway, so..."

She kicks him behind the table, earning a groan from him and a shocked expression.

"Hey, I'm the one who is having a hard time here!"

"Oh, sorry, I think I should mind my own business, shouldn't I?"

Lance pouts, frowning at her and earning a laugh in exchange.

"Hurry up, I need to get the truck fixed so that I can go to work."

"You are supposed to be working?!"

"Yes, Lance, not all of us get to write for a living."

He rolls his eyes.

"Believe me, it's hard."

Turns out that the garage they go to is owned by Shiro, but the one who manages is no other than Keith. He and Veronica step out of the truck after leaving it inside of the garage and she tells him that she has to tell something to Acxa, one of the workers. He says it's fine, spotting a pair of legs sticking out behind a car and smiling. He walks towards that car and crouches, trying to see behind the car. With a wide grin on his face, he knocks on the car bumper.

"Hey there!" He says, in his loudest voice. Keith jumps in surprise, hitting his forehead in the process and pulls himself away from the car. He curses, rubbing his forehead when he sees Lance's shit-eating grin. He gets up, leaving his hand on his poor forehead as he glares directly at Lance, who snorts.

"Glad to see that you are still as annoying as you were in high school," Keith greets, crouching and retracting the skateboard he was using to roll under the car.

"Excuse you," Lance says, cocking his hip and crossing his arms above his chest. "You should feel grateful that I am blessing you with my presence right now."

Keith laughs, throwing the dirty rag he was using a few moments ago over his shoulder and Lance has never seen him so alive. Something in his chest rumbles lowly, warming him all over. _Jeez, can you look less lonely right now?_ He thinks to himself as he knows he is blushing. Maybe not seeing Keith since he left is making him act weird. Or maybe it is the fact that he broke up with the person he thought was the love of his life and he felt lonely. Place your bets.

"Right," Keith says. He then points at the old truck on the other side of the garage. "Is the engine giving you a headache?"

"Yeah," Lance answers, rubbing the back of his head. "Ronnie said that you guys can fix it quickly."

"Yeah, Kolivan will be done with it in no time," Keith says, still looking at the truck. After a few seconds of uncomfortable silence and Lance swaying on his feet, he says,

"Look at you man; who knew you would end up working in a garage."

"Well, I didn't really know what I wanted to di after I graduated, so Shiro kinda got me this job. I fell in love with it though, so now I come Monday through Wednesday. Then on Thursday and Friday, I help Coran on the preschool down your street."

Lance raises his eyebrows.

"You work in the preschool too?!"

"Yeah," Keith smiles, a little bit startled by Lance raising his voice. "Coran needed help and I couldn't refuse," he smirks. "You know how it is; if you tell him no, you will probably regret it for life."

"Yeah..." Lance says, although he doesn't know how it is. He never had the opportunity to see that because he was struggling in the city. Besides, he was still a little shocked by the change in character Keith had. Out of all of them, he seemed to be the one who changed the most. He remembers as if it were just yesterday Keith's awkward self, the boy who would constantly challenge him and laugh at him every time he lost; the same boy who had a rough past, but still didn't let it define him. The same boy Lance had fallen in love, who would share his secrets on those escapades to the lake in the middle of the night because Keith couldn't bear to stay in his house and _coincidentally_ Lance couldn't sleep. The boy who he shared his dreams with. The boy he admired and looked up to because he knew that regardless of where Keith ended, he was destined to do well. "Besides ripped a softie? Be careful Kogane, you might be the inspiration for my next male lead."

Keith grimaced.

"I'll pass."

Lance huffs, placing one hand on his chest where his heart is and the other one on the head, tilting in fake dramatics.

"Oh, the rejection," he says, his voice quivering fakely as he closes his eyes and pouts. He earned another chuckle from Keith when Veronica joins them.

"Hey Keith," she greets him. He smiles at her and turns when a tall man with long, white hair in a braid calls him. He nods at them in excuse and runs toward the man. Veronica turns to him. "Ready to go?"

"Uh," he looks back for a moment, but he doesn't find Keith, so he turn back. "Sure, but... do you really have to go to work? I'm going to be so bored at home," he says, pouting.

"No can do little brother," she answers with a smile, placing a hand on his back and leading him to the truck.

He follows reluctantly. He really didn't like the idea of spending all day at home alone, but there was no way anyone could be with him. His mother was busy helping Hunk at his bakery. Rachel was studying and had to work after school. Marcos and Luis were each in their work. Pidge had a business meeting and the kids were at school. Maybe he could try that meditation thing his therapist told him. It wouldn't hurt to try everything in his power to finally reduce that slump he feels in his chest. And he would be meeting with Pidge and Hunk at night for their scary movie marathon. It was just a few hours with his self-deprecating thoughts. He could manage, right? Probably not.

"Wait!"

Veronica smirks and Lance turns around, a confused expression on his face. He is definitely not expecting to see Keith run towards them with a flushed face and the beginning of a smile.

"Are you going to work Veronica?" He asks, a little bit out of breath.

"Yeah," she answers. "But Lance here is free all day."

"Wha-" Lance turns to her in confusion. "What?"

"Cool," Keith says. "I'm free too."

"What?" Lance stares at him in shock, his brows furrowed.

"Would you mind if I steal him then?"

Lance takes a moment to process that Keith is not actually talking to him, but to Veronica, who winks back.

"Please do so," she says as she gets in the car and turns the engine on. Lance raises his eyebrows.

" _What?_ "

She lowers the passenger's window and smiles at him.

"Have fun! Be careful!"

And then she was driving off.

He turns back to Keith, who was smirking at him, tilting his head. Lance meets him with a dumbfounded look. He probably looks too stupid because Keith bursts out laughing. He then waves at Lance to follow him inside the garage. He follows hesitantly until they reach a red motorcycle parked near the back of the garage. This time he raises his eyebrows in surprise because he remembers this.

"You finished it," he says simply, not being able to hide his surprise.

"Yeah. I stopped working in it after we graduated, but I started again a few years later," he takes one helmet and passes it to Lance as he takes off his ponytail, hair falling to his shoulders. It is shorter than before, but the mullet was still clearly there. "It was a pain to build, but so worth it," he finishes, smiling at him before pulling his helmet on. Lance does the same, the familiarity of it burning through him.

"Can I ask where are we going?"

"Nope."

Keith gets on the bike first and pats the back of the seat for Lance to follow. He hesitates for a second, biting his bottom lip, but then shrugs, sitting down after a hard ordeal and almost falling twice. He reluctantly wraps his arms around Keith's waist. Lance can feel his pulse quickening, unsure of what is coming, but excited nonetheless. Keith brings the engine to life, roaring throughout the garage. Lance presses his knees tightly, afraid that he might fall. Keith laughs and proceeds to take them out of the garage. Lance feels giddy, his heart beating maybe a little bit too fast, but he likes the wind rushing through his sides, feeling Keith's warmth on his chest.

Soon, the town becomes a blur of smudges with different colors and Lance can;t help the smile that pervades in his face. They ride in silence, mostly because Lance is sure that if he speaks, it would be lost on the wind, passing through town as if they weren't really there; as if it was just a tape, rewinding in his memories from the time when Keith would drive him around in his father's motorcycle that he would take without his permission. It reminds him of simpler times, when it was easy to get lost in his thoughts without overthinking or hurting himself.

Keith doesn't live in the old house he used to visit back in high school. He parks the bike on a reserved spot with a number on the floor and takes his helmet off, helping Lance get off too. Lance looks at the mess of hair in Keith's head and laughs. Keith raises an eyebrow and doesn't pay much attention to him as he makes his way to the entrance of the building. They ride the elevator up to the third floor and turn right. The building looks pretty modern, probably because he had never seen this part of town. They stop on the fourth door to their left and Keith takes his keys and opens the door, whistling softly. Lance follows him, taking in the white walls with very few colors besides black and an occasion of red. Very Keith-like.

What he doesn't expect is the sudden weight that attacks him as soon as he enters the apartment. He shrieks and falls to the floor, an immense pressure above his chest and for a moment he panics because that pressure is supposed to be more of an emotional one (or at least that's what his therapist said) and he fears he might die right then and there. However, he then feels the moist tongue licking the sides of his face. The large, black husky stares at him curiously, tilting its head and piercing through him with those blue eyes.

"Kosmo, stop!" Keith chastises, trying to pull the dog off Lance, who just throws back his head and laughs loudly. The dog paws softly at his chest, trying to get Lance's attention.

"A dog, Keith? Seriously?" Kosmo only moves when he hears the bag of treats that Keith shakes to get the animal's attention. "I thought you were more of a cat person," he says, getting up; he dusts off his shirt and passes his arm over his face to clean it from the stickiness.

"Honestly, I did too," he throws a treat at Kosmo, and endearing look on his face. "But then this little guy came along and I guess I like dogs now."

Lance smiles, his eyes wandering once again to the small apartment. It was fairly simple, the kitchen to the left of the entrance and the dinner table leading to the balcony; the living room to the right, with a segmented bookcase filled with books, the TV next to it and a long window pane that extended from the middle of the wall all the way to the ceiling. A small table and a chair were set under the window, light filtering through the glass. Ahead was the hallway that leads to two doors, probably the bedroom and a bathroom. There was a picture of Shiro and Keith on the bookcase, one of them together with Adam. On one of the cubicles of the bookcase was a small shrine, a picture of Keith's father surrounded by incense. It fits Keith perfectly.

"Ready?" Keith asks, taking him away from his thoughts. Lance looks back at him; he has Kosmo on a leash now and keys dangling on his hand. Lance can't decipher what the expression Keith holds right now means, but he is pretty sure he has seen it before. He just can't place it right now.

"Sure, let's go."


	3. On the Basis of Friendship

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> College midterms suck, honestly XD
> 
> I am almost out, but for now, it will take a few weeks until I update again. 
> 
> I hope you like this chapter. Lance is finally starting his process of healing and although not as flashy as the movies make it seem, it still works for him. 
> 
> There is some sexy content in this chapter so if you don't feel comfortable with it, please watch out! It also starts right off after the previous one.
> 
> I love writing Klance, they just make my life better! Any feedback is appreciated, thank you! <3

They go back down in comfortable silence. Lance doesn’t understand why, but he doesn’t feel the nerves prickling throughout his body right now. Usually, he feels the constant need to talk when situations get awkward. But lately, he has been enjoying the silence; he has started to embrace it. They get into a black Honda Civic, Kosmo panting on the back from excitement.

“What is the city like?” Keith asks when they have pulled away from the parking lot. Lance looks outside the window, pensively.

“Intriguing,” he says. “There is a different thing in every corner. And of course, it is big,” he laughs, “so big that it could swallow you whole before you notice.”

Keith hums, nodding softly, but allowing Lance to continue.

“It is very pretty, but it spares no one. You don’t know how hard it was for me to not get lost in the first year. I would eventually end up on the beach because it was the most recognizable thing; and not even in the same spot. It is just so huge. Once I took the bus and ended up in the same place! Can you believe?”

Keith laughs, stopping on the red light and turning to Lance.

“But do you like it?”

Lance takes some time to answer. It is not that he doesn’t like it. It’s just that it feels like too much sometimes, that it might leave you behind if you are not fast enough to catch up. Although most of the best experiences he has had were in the city, most of his anxiety and stress come from there too.

“Yeah...?” He ventures, not really wanting to dump everything on Keith, who snorts.

“You don’t sound so convinced.”

“Whatever,” Lance says, waving his hand dismissively. “So you work in a preschool now? Who would have thought.”

“Yeah,” Lance can see Keith’s smile as he makes a turn. “Coran asked me to help him with carrying stuff and then painting and then taking care of a group because there weren’t enough volunteers. I ended up staying for three months and Coran just started paying me.”

“Yeah, doesn’t sound like you, mullet. You really have changed.”

Keith laughs at that and chances a glance at Lance.

“You haven’t though, aside from _that._ "

Lance furrows his brows.

“What do you mean?”

Keith doesn’t answer straight away but focuses on the road in front of them. He turns his blinker on before making another turn into the familiar entrance of the park. Lance knows where they are now, his heart leaping slightly in excitement. Keith shows the park ranger his all-year stamp and they are allowed in.

“You look like me,” Keith finally says; “I know that look because that was me after we graduated.”

“I look like you?” Lance huffs. “What, like, hot and ready to take the world and all those who have wronged you?”

Keith laughs, but shakes his head, pulling into the parking lot under the tree, in the corner closest to the lake.

“No. Lost.”

They get out of the car, Keith taking Kosmo’s leash and grabbing a toy from the backseat. He locks the car and they walk towards the green area that leads to a big lake, the sun reflecting directly into Lance’s face. The lake is not completely filled as it is mid-September, but it looks as crystalline and enjoyable as it used to when he was younger. He remembers when his family would come and make their famous _parrilla_ when they had something to celebrate, or when Hunk, Pidge, and he would race each other to see who could reach the buoys faster. He also remembers when Keith would take him here when they were stressed about school, or when they were both too bored to stay at home; he remembers the times when he challenged Keith to race him and see who could run around the lake the fastest, or when he would taunt Keith to get in even if it was too cold. He remembers the time when he would throw furtive glances at Keith while they sat on the sand, his mullet ruffled by the wind and a small smile on his lips, his head tilted to the sky with his eyes closed. He remembers the beating of his heart, rapid and relentless, ready to give every time Keith looked at him. He remembers the number of times they made out on the sand when they were sure no one was looking.

“Can you hold this for me?” Keith asks, giving him Kosmo’s toy. Lance takes it while Keith unharnesses the dog’s leash and takes the toy from Lance. “Thanks,” he says, and then with a loud whistle, he exclaims, “Fetch Kosmo!”

The dog just stares at him curiously after he throws the toy far away. Lance bursts out laughing; Keith curses under his breath and walks to where the toy lays, Kosmo looking directly at Lance. If it weren’t for his fluffiness and his lopsided ears, Lance would totally think he is being hunted.

“Impressive Keith,” he says, clapping. Keith rolls his eyes and hands him the toy, his eyes challenging. Lance still smiles when he looks at him, confused.

“He likes it when new people do it. He just likes people in general.”

Lance nods and takes the toy from Keith’s hands, throwing it as far as he can. Kosmo speeds up and runs after it. Lance chuckles, looking at Keith.

“How did you get a dog anyway?”

“My...” Keith stops himself, thinking it twice, “someone close to me gave him to me for my birthday.”

“An ex?” Lance asks, wiggling his eyebrows. Maybe that way, he wouldn’t feel that tug in his chest. Kosmo comes back, panting heavily and Keith takes the toy from him, throwing it to the other side.

“Nah, they usually give me jewelry.”

“Damn, you’re expensive now, huh?”

“I’ve always been expensive,” he says with a smirk, taking the toy again from Kosmo and throwing it away. “It’s not my fault that your broke ass couldn’t afford me.”

Keith could have fooled him if it weren’t for the apparent blush in his cheeks and the sheepish smile on his face. Lance is too surprised to be offended. What happened to the shy, brooding boy he used to know? Who was this guy, with his eyes shining and basically glowing under the maddening sun? Why did Lance ever think it was a good idea to never come back when Keith gave him a thousand reasons to stay just for the sheer curiosity of it?

“Oh my god, Keith,” he says, running a hand through his hair. “I should say something back, but that was just- what- who are you?” He laughs.

“I’m sorry,” Keith answers, taking the toy once again and passing it to Lance.

He takes it and Kosmo starts running before he throws it. While the toy is in the air, Kosmo jumps and catches it gracefully, but then his weight pulls him back to the floor, rolling over his head through the sand until he stabilizes himself. Lance and Keith laugh loudly, running to where the dog lays, unbothered, and chewing the toy. Keith sits down next to him and pats the sand on his side, ushering Lance to do the same. He sits next to him, the sand soft under his palms. It feels totally different from the time he sat on the beach in the city. It feels calmer, less stressful.

“What about you?” Keith asks.

“Hm?”

Keith clears his throat. “Your exes...”

“Oh,” Lances chuckles in embarrassment, “uh... well, you know, a few flings in college, but...” he swallows visibly, not really sure if he should continue, but his mouth doesn’t wait for him to process, “I had a relationship... before coming back. Uh, it kinda didn’t work out though,” he rubs the back of his head.

“Hmmm...”

Lance turns to Keith, who just has his lips pursed in a thin line, looking at the sky. Kosmo’s toy somehow managed to find itself next to Lance and he takes it, absentmindedly throwing it as far away as possible. With a _plop_ , it falls on the water, and Kosmo runs after it, splashing contently. Keith’s head snaps at the sound and he groans loudly, getting up from the sand. Lance arches an eyebrow, getting up from the sand as well.

“I’m sorry?” He says, clearly confused at Keith trying to get Kosmo back to the sand. Keith sighs.

“He is a little bit dumb. He won’t find it at all.” Suddenly, he starts to take his shoes off. Lance smiles, chuckling softly. Keith groans again. “Ugh, I’m wearing jeans...” he mutters, before taking a deep breath.

“Do you want me to go for it?” Lance asks; it would be the logical choice as he is wearing shorts, but Keith just steps in the water (socks still on his feet), cursing about how cold the water is and walks toward Kosmo, who is struggling to look for the toy and be able to breathe at the same time.

Keith bends to search for the toy and Lance knows he definitely shouldn’t be thinking about those times Keith would do that intentionally when Shiro was not home and they had some spare time to kill. He also definitely shouldn’t be feeling the heat rising to his cheeks. _Jeez, Lance, get a grip_ , he thinks to himself when Keith shoots his fist to the sky, the toy held up high and a smile on his face. Lance claps, trying to hide his blush. Suddenly, Kosmo jumps on top of Keith for the toy, pushing him to the water completely. Lance bursts out laughing, clutching his gut because that’s too damn funny and it’s been a while since he has laughed like that.

“Fuck! It’s cold!”

Kosmo just stares at them both with curious eyes. Keith makes his way back to Lance, who is gasping for air with his hands on his knees, a few tears on his eyes after laughing so much. Keith groans and rolls his eyes, putting the leash on Kosmo and picking up his shoes from the ground. Lance takes a deep breath, walking back with Keith to his car.

“I can drive if you want to,” he offers, watching as Keith opens the trunk and throws the toy inside; he then takes out what looks like a bedsheet, passing it through his face to dry it.

“No way,” Keith says, pulling a face. He then runs the bedsheet through his hair, trying to dry it as best as he can with no luck. Finally, he wraps it around himself. “Remember when you crashed the truck trying to take us to prom? No thank you.”

“Okay,” Lance says, holding up one finger in front of Keith’s face, who swats it down, “first of all, it was like, my second time driving. Second of all, we were already late and you and Hunk were being little bitches about it.”

Keith chuckles, rolling his eyes. “We were late because of you!”

“Yeah, but it wasn’t me who stole his father’s bike and got grounded, pretty boy. I was the only other person with a driver’s license at the time!” Lance huffs, exasperated, but with a smile on his face. “And for your interest, I am a great driver now. The city is merciless.”

Keith’s eyes shine under the specks of light that pass through the tree, making his irises spark alluringly, and frankly, taking his breath away. It would be a lie if Lance said that he didn’t miss those eyes, this banter. Keith had always been one of the most important people in his life (something he will never admit to him), and maybe this is it. Maybe this is how he gets back on his feet. Maybe like this, he will finally be able to heal, by going back to his usual teasing.

“All right, you drive then,” is all Keith says before throwing the keys to Lance. The keys fall on the ground after he attempts to catch them, but he is a tad too slow. He hears Keith snickering as he helps Kosmo get into the car. Lance rolls his eyes. Yeah, maybe he has lost his reflexes. Who cares, right?

He gets into the car, putting his seat belt on and turning on the car and pulls away from the parking lot. There are about three miles of road from the lake to the entrance, so Lance pulls down the windows and places his left arm outside. It’s been a while since he has been able to drive through a road that is not filled with other cars or honking or people shouting at each other. It has also been a while since he has breathed deeply, the air ruffling his hair swiftly. He smiles. It feels nice to be able to breathe like this again, to think that, for a moment, everything is fine; that he is fine, and that he will be from now on.

“So back to your place?” He asks, after passing the entrance and waving a hand at the rangers.

“Um...” Keith stutters, bringing the bedsheet to his chin, his eyes stuck to the dashboard. Lance frowns, although he does admit that it is pretty cute.

“Yeah?”

“We can go to your house,” Keith answers in a small voice. Lance snorts.

“Chill Keith, I’m not one to get straight at it on the first date-”

“It was not a date!” Keith looks at him, exasperated, a pink blush on his face. Lance laughs.

“I’m messing with you,” he says, looking at him when they stop at a red light. “But it does look like something is bothering you.”

Keith stays silent for a moment, glaring holes into the dashboard.

“Would it be weird if...” Keith reconsiders it but then takes a deep breath. “Would it be weird if I told you that I have a change of clothes at your house?”

That makes Lance falter for a moment, probably putting a little bit too much pressure on the gas pedal, as he frowns. Why would Keith have a change of clothes in his house? He was never around even when Lance still lived there. He basically avoided it like the plague, something that bothered Lance a lot. But then again, many things bothered him when it came to Keith. It wasn’t until he grew up that he understood some of those things. He knows that Keith didn’t like going to Lance’s house because it reminded him of family, something that was already broken for him. He knows that Keith didn’t talk to him or his group at first because he had been left before and it scared him to be vulnerable with others. He knows Keith wasn’t very honest with his feelings, even if he said hurtful, truthful things. So hearing him say that not only he is comfortable enough to step into the McClain household, but also that he has a change of clothes there? That throws Lance off.

“It’s weird,” Keith says, horrified with the realization. “It is so weird, I’m sorry, I really shouldn’t have said it. I-”

“It’s cool, man,” Lance says, trying to maintain his relaxed expression.

“No, it’s not. You have that look, the one you pull when you know things are awkward and you don’t want the other person to feel bad.”

Ah, yeah, he also knows that, although Keith is not very expressive himself, he is very observant and reads people well. Especially Lance.

“Well, it’s just...” he clears his throat. Why is he so nervous? “Why would you have a spare change of clothes in _my_ house?”

It becomes eerily silent and Lance doesn’t know if his heartbeat can be heard from miles away or if it’s just blood pumping through his ears, but he is pretty sure that Keith can hear it too. He steals furtive glances through the corner of his eye at Keith, who looks deep in thought. That is something that Keith did a lot back then, but this time it looks different. He can’t explain it, but Lance has never seen Keith so concentrated on something so trivial. Or maybe it was not trivial at all.

“I used to work for your mother’s restaurant,” Keith starts in a small voice. “Just after you left. There was a period before I started at the garage and Coran asked me to help him at school. I think she could sense that I was... not okay? And of course, you had left so maybe it was just a way to make your family and me feel better.”

Lance swallows the lump on his throat. Of course, his mother would be nice enough to offer Keith a job. Of course, she would be going through a hard time after her son left. Of course, they would find some solace in each other. It is simple, really. He may not know what Keith was going through back then, but he knows damn well that his mother was saddened. After all, he had left and never came back after five years.

“After that, I was invited to any party or celebration they had. I’m serious, you guys celebrate _anything_ ,” Keith laughs, playing with the ruffles of the bedsheet.

“Hell yeah we do,” Lance says with pride and a small smile in his face. His family was very keen on celebrating any accomplishment, no matter how small.

“Even after your mother closed the restaurant because Veronica found a job out of town and Rachel was accepted into college, she would still call me sometimes to help her around the house. When Shiro moved in with Adam, our lease was up and she gave me a place to stay,” Keith finishes, shrugging. Lance pulls into the street and turns left, parking the car in front of the garage of his house. “I didn’t like it at first,” Keith says, suddenly his voice lower than before. “But I felt like I had to do it... help your mother I mean.”

“Why?” Lance asks, turning off the car. He looks at Keith expectantly, worrying his lower lip.

“Because I regret...” Keith locks eyes with him for a moment, ready to finish his sentence, but then hesitates and looks away, taking his seat belt off. “I was just apologetic, you know? For being a pain in the ass.”

Lance doesn’t need to be a psychic to know what Keith means.He is not only apologetic for bothering his mom, there is something else there, but if he doesn’t feel comfortable enough saying it, Lance is not going to press him. He knows better than anyone how it feels to be asked constantly about the things you say and why you say them. He is also not very good at letting other people know how it feels, believe it or not. Everything in his books are things he wished he could do, don’t let that fool you.

“It’s fine,” Lance finally answers. “My mom loves everyone, so don’t sweat it.”

They get out of the car, Keith putting the leash on Kosmo once again while Lance takes out his key and opens the door. Keith goes directly to the kitchen, walking past the pantry into the hallway that leads to the guest room. He ushers Kosmo out of the room and closes the door a little bit too forcefully. Kosmo whimpers, looking at Lance. He smiles, taking the leash off of the dog.

“Aw, did Keith just slammed the door on you? Poor boy,” he says in a baby voice, crouching. Kosmo wags his tail at him, pushing his face to Lance’s hands. Lance chuckles.

" _I didn’t,_ " Keith says muffled through the door. Lance snorts and takes Kosmo to the living room, falling on the couch. Kosmo jumps up as well, laying his full body on Lance, earning a groan from him.

“God, you’re heavy,” Lance laughs, barely breathing.

Kosmo moves, laying on his side instead and Lance takes a deep breath. “Aw, thank you,” he says, laying on his side as well and rubbing the dog’s ears with a grin on his face. “Who’s a good boy?” He asks, earning a violent waggle of Kosmo’s tail. He laughs, rubbing his head. This dog was so fluffy it was criminal, honestly. How did Keith manage to end up with such an adorable and deadly-looking dog at the same time? _Dogs really do look like their owners, huh?_

Keith walks out of the kitchen after a few moments, his hair still half-dried after riding the whole time with the windows rolled down. He has dark jeans and a basic white shirt that is maybe too large on him, but it suits him. He walks towards Lance, who currently has his face nuzzled into Kosmo’s hair.

“Can I keep him?” Lance asks.

“No,” Keith answers, raising his eyebrows and crossing his arms above his chest.

“See Kosmo? He’s keeping you from me. He can’t stand that you like me more than him,” Lance fake whispers into the dog’s hair, throwing a scowl at Keith, who rolls his eyes.

“Scoot over,” he commands.

“What?”

Kosmo wiggles from Lance’s embrace and sits on top of him, his tail hitting Lance’s face as the dog looks excitedly at Keith, who sits next to Lance. Lance spits a few hairs and looks at how Keith smiles at Kosmo. A brilliant smile, one that could light up any room. A smile that Lance will never get tired of.

“What?” Keith asks, looking at him curiously. Lance was probably staring like a creep, so he runs a hand through his hair.

“Uh, nothing.” Keith shrugs and in the process, his left sleeve falls, exposing his collarbone. Lance swallows. Keith notices Lance’s staring and he casts back a mischievous look at Lance that lasts only a few seconds before he turns back to petting Kosmo.

Here is the thing. Lance and Keith have always had a complicated relationship. They met in middle school, but soon after, Keith moved to another town. After that, they met again in high school and Keith claimed he didn’t remember Lance, so Lance took it upon himself to create a rivalry between them because Keith annoyed the hell out of him. He can’t pinpoint when, but at somewhere in those years, Keith joined his group of friends and suddenly Keith wasn’t annoying anymore. Lance actually enjoyed spending time with him because he got to see aspects of Keith that nobody else did. He liked that. And maybe it was because they were bored, or maybe it was because Lance had been running it through his head for a long time, but the first time they kissed, in the dusty floor of Keith’s room when his father was out working and they were supposed to finish their project, was the first time he realized that maybe, just maybe, the rivalry was just an excuse for his feelings.

After that, they never spoke about it again, but that didn’t mean that they wouldn’t sneak out of gym class to make out in the changing room or that they would sometimes ditch Hunk and Pidge to spend time in Keith’s house. They formed a bond that Lance was never able to describe because every time he touched the subject, Keith would tell him that there was nothing between them. This confused Lance, because he was pretty sure that friends didn’t avoid hanging out with other friends just to make out or spend time with each other. So he never mentioned it again. And although they never talked about it, just with a glance, Lance knows that whatever they had with each other before is still there, from the way Keith’s hand strokes Kosmo’s hair absentmindedly, his eyes lingering sometimes on Lance.

And Lance doesn’t understand why, but it feels like there is a fire that reignites in him, taking Keith’s hand and pulling him from where he is sitting into him. He doesn’t understand, but his lips press fully against Keith’s because it just feels right. It sends him back to all those times during assemblies where they would sit far behind everyone and sneak furtive kisses from each other; and it brings him back again because Keith is snaking his hands to the back of his neck, pulling his hair gently and making him fall on his back. It feels familiar, but strange at the same time. Maybe he _is_ one to get straight at it on the first date.

He wraps his arms around Keith’s waist, stroking slowly the hem of his shirt up and down. The feeling may be familiar, but the way Keith kisses him, slowly, savoring every second when he captures his lips is different from the heated and impatient times they made out back then. Lance bites his lower lip, earning a content sigh from Keith, who brings his knees to straddle Lance’s hips. He grins and pulls them both up, breaking away for a moment just to look at Keith, who looks back at him with stars in his eyes. He falls on top of him, seizing his lips again, tongues dancing in slow motion. He sneaks his hands through Keith’s shirt, making him arch his back slightly, whining at his cold hands. Lance laughs, moving his mouth to the mark on Keith’s right cheek, the scar running all the way to the collarbone. He plants wet kisses all over it. He knows that Keith is self-conscious of that scar, hiding away at first from Lance after the accident; it took a while for Keith to be comfortable with Lance, but Lance was always patient with him. This time, Keith tangles his hands on Lance’s hair, pulling slightly, small whimpers coming out of his mouth.

Lance sucks deeply below the collarbone, earning a stronger pull of his hair, something that drives him crazy. He sucks and bites and then Keith is pulling him back to his mouth, this time a little bit more impatient, but still at the slow pace that they had started with. Lance’s mind is soaring, his hands trailing the specks of Keith’s chest as he runs his hands through his back. Lance pulls a knee between Keith’s legs, earning a groan from him. He kisses Keith deeply, slowly, as if he is making up for all those years that he wasn’t here. It drives him crazy, that even after all these years, this chemistry that they shared is still there despite everything that went wrong in their friendship.

“Oh shit,” Keith says, pulling back with a grimace on his face. Lance panics, raising his eyebrows and placing his hands on his sides, missing the contact with his skin.

“What?”

Keith smiles through closed eyes, his nose scrunched.

“Kosmo is licking my feet,” Keith says, snorting and laughing. A bubble of laughter comes out of Lance, sitting on top of Keith. They laugh for a few seconds before Keith sits up too, staring at Lance with a half-smile. His eyes wander through his face and linger on his lips; he purses his lips, pushing Lance softly with a sigh. Lance furrow his brow. The pressure on his chest is back, his heart beating quickly, but not from excitement; did he do something wrong? Did he force it? What was Keith thinking? Maybe it was not the same as before. Maybe he didn’t like it. Maybe...

“I should go,” Keith says, his voice small once again, avoiding Lance’s eyes. He pulls away from him.

“Uh...” Lance says intelligently, shaking his head. “Yeah.”

Great Lance. Perfect.

Keith lingers for a moment before, rubbing the back of his neck, a sheepish smile on his face as he takes Kosmo’s leash and whistles for the dog to follow.

“Um...” Keith looks at the floor. His hair is ruffled a little bit, the pink blush still on his cheeks and the hickey flashing every time his shirt rides too low on his shoulder. He clears his throat. “See you around?”

“Yeah,” Lance sighs. His brows deepen as he stares to the spot right beside Keith. “See you around.”

☆☆☆

Normally, Lance would be going crazy with nerves as the movie reaches its climax, the moment of truth, the sweet reveal that will give him that savored victory that he likes every time Hunk and Pidge play “Guess the plot twist”, but this time his nerves are not from excitement. Ever since Pidge entered his room, they have been giving him a knowing glance, teasing him about a secret that they have and will probably blow in Lance’s face. What stresses Lance more is that he already knows this secret. He knows that Pidge is good friends with Keith. He knows that Keith tells everything to either Pidge or Shiro. He knows what is about to go down and he can’t relieve his nerves as the movie finally shows that, yes, there was a man living in the house (which Pidge guessed on the first try) and no, it was not a ghost (like Lance and Hunk assumed).

“I told you!” Pidge says, throwing their hands in the air.

“Come one!” Hunk says, clutching a bed cover to his face. “These movies are always about ghosts!” Lance stays uncharacteristically silent as the movie finishes.

“Guess the plot twist” is rather simple. The person who gets the plot twist gets to decide a punishment for the others or they can ask a question. It’s like truth or dare, but more exciting because they could have an excuse to go watch movies to each other’s house. It wasn’t until their junior year where alcohol started being involved. Lance has the best memories of “Guess the plot twist” from his high school years. However, he is regretting coming up with the game at the moment.

"All right Lance, chug five cans of beer..." Pidge says, a mischievous smile on their face.

"Come on Pidge, that's a little extreme," Hunk interjects, frowning and crossing his arms above his chest. 

"... or tell me what happened between you and Keith today," they finish.

"Yeah, five cans seems reasonable."

"Hunk!" Lance says, betrayed. He crosses his arms above his chest. Technically he could chug five beers. But he has already drank two, and he knows that the next two will be the death of him. So if he doesn't want to have his stomach pumped, maybe he should start talking. He whines, pouting a little bit. "Why do you have to be best friends with him? It's not fair!"

"It's not fair that you didn't tell _me_ anything..." Hunk mutters, imitating Lance's pout. Lance sighs. That's true.

"Okay," he says, running a hand through his hair. "Ronnie and I went to get the truck fixed and it turns out that Keith works there? Like, with a ripped tank top and a ponytail and I didn't know and we talked, but then we had to leave, but he asked if I was free and of course, I was free, I don't have anything to do, so he took me to his house and then I met Kosmo and he took me to the lake to play with Kosmo and he called me a broke ass because he is expensive and like, true? He is definitely expensive, and I threw Kosmo's toy into the water and he had to look for it and Kosmo pushed him into the water and he told me he had a change of clothes? In my house? And he didn't clarify much, I'm still confused as hell, but I took him to my house and he changed and..."

He takes a moment to catch his breath, noticing Pidge's and Hunk's eyes wide with expectation, scared that any of their movements could end the entrancing story that Lance was telling them. 

"And then we kissed," Lance breathes out, blushing furiously, his eyes almost as wide as theirs. "We made out actually, but then... then he left and I think that was the wrong move."

They are quiet for a while, Lance regaining his composure.

"Damn, not even a day and you are already thirsting over Keith?" Pidge says, hollering. "Typical Lance!"

"Buddy, that's just... Wow," Hunk says. He has a smile on his face as well. "But uh, do you feel fine with that?"

"Are you asking if he enjoyed it?" Pidge asks, laughing harder.

"No!" Hunk says, blushing as well. Lance huffs, laughing due to Pidge's contagious laugh. "I just want to know if he is all right."

"I am, Hunk," Lance says, although he doesn't know if it's true. "Now 'fess up Pidgey, what did emo boy tell you?"

"You'll never know," Pidge says as they jump off the bed, making their way to the other side of the room, away from Lance. 

"Oh, I will," Lance says, jumping off the bed too. 

Pidge darts out of Lance's room and he runs after her, feeling fourteen again, Hunk behind him to make sure that none of them gets hurt. They trash around the house, screaming loudly and earning a reprimand from Lance's mother. At the end of the night, they are laughing again, and although Lance never gets Pidge to tell him, he still feels happy, the pressure on his chest not as noticeable. He is glad that he is with his friends. 


	4. A Love Story

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have finally finished my semester! I have been longing to update because I am really invested in this story and I hope you guys are too!
> 
> This is a smaller chapter, but it definitely introduces the main point of my story! I always like to include important topics in my stories because I feel like writing is our way to communicate with others and I always want to bring a positive message to my readers.
> 
> Thank you for the kudos and the comments! If you have any feedback or just want to leave a comment, go for it! Thank you for taking this journey with me!

If Lance can be honest, he doesn’t like sitting still. Not only because he is an anxious fluffball, but because the concept of doing nothing is just out of his dictionary. He loves moving, doing things, and keeping himself busy, trying to keep the moment going all the way until he dozes off from tossing around in his bed. Regardless of it being his wired brain, he just can’t understand how people like being alone and spend all the time in their house doing nothing. Pidge told him once that it was quite relaxing to not hear other people bother them, but Lance just can’t fathom the idea. Staying home? Be on the couch all day long watching movies? Doing nothing? Just the mere thought of it consumes him. This is why Lance runs. He wakes up after everyone in the house is gone. He has the breakfast that his mother carefully wrapped and left in the microwave. He takes a bottle of water, puts a loose shirt and some shorts on, and goes for a run.

He likes to feel the wind in his face and the sore in his muscles because it makes him feel alive. Back in the city, he couldn’t go jogging because he prefers to go jog on a trail than in the middle of the sidewalk. Besides, he had lost interest in it after having to deal with the chapters’ deadlines, some interviews, Nyma, helping his thesis professor around in his university because apparently he is the most trustworthy student his professor ever had... There was always so much to do, even if all he did was actually write books. It takes a toll on you, and Lance had run thin to the point of exhaustion from all the demands. He has always been give and no take but at some point, you get tired, tired of never receiving even if that's what you are supposed to do.

So Lance, having nothing to do in his house, decides to go for a run in the trails near the lake. It feels refreshing and after stopping and stretching his legs, he takes a deep breath, filling his lungs with the crisp air. The burn of his muscles is a nice reminder that he is alive, and although he was pretty sure that tomorrow he won't be able to walk down the stairs with the awful pain on his legs, he loves it nonetheless. He looks up at the sky, a few clouds covering the sun, the cold breeze swooning around him. He has a smile on his face when his phone starts ringing, Hunk's name displayed on the screen.

"Hey, buddy!" He greets.

" _Hey, Lance! How are you?_ "

Lance can hear the smile in his voice.

"Great, I just came for a run near the lake. Are you at the bakery?"

" _Yeah! Your mom-_ " he hears some ruffling on the other side, " _-Hi Lance! Did you take the laundry out of the washer yet?_ " His mom's voice comes through the phone and he throws his back, laughing.

"Ma! Stop!"

" _Yeah, sorry, sorry, but take out the laundry!_ " He hears Hunk laugh. " _Hey,_ " Hunk says, " _why don't you come by the bakery? I can bake you some brownies, especially for you._ "

"Yes!" Lance says, beaming, throwing his fist silently in the air. "God, I love you so much, man."

" _I know buddy. See you then!_ "

"Damn sure!"

He makes his way to his family's truck, beads of sweat falling from his hair. He sips from his water bottle one last time before getting in the truck and turning it on. He puts his seat belt on and pulls away from the parking lot, making his way to Hunk's bakery. He knows the way like the back of his hand because it used to be his mother's restaurant. He spent most of his childhood there, making messy empanadas and chatting with customers as he served them. It was his first job and he was very proud of all the hard work he had put into it. It was his mother's special place because every one of his siblings helped in it; Luis proposed to Lisa there, Veronica had finished her thesis there, Marco celebrated his graduation by trashing the kitchen trying to do a cake, and it was the place where Lance and Rachel put their differences aside because helping their mother made her so happy. Lance was elated when he heard that the restaurant was now Hunk's after he graduated from culinary school. He was even more excited when his mother told him that she would work as a manager in Hunk's bakery. It just felt right and he was a little jealous of how easy it felt. When he admitted this to his mother, she told him that it was just the way life wanted it, that someday, things will just fit into place for him too.

Lance still wonders sometimes if that's true.

He parks the truck outside the bakery and jumps out, excited. It has been literally five years since he tasted Hunk's brownies and he was not going to miss it for anything in the world. He walks through the door's ding and smiles widely when he sees Hunk in a yellow apron, checking the display glass and organizing baked goods meticulously, his face in a deep, concentrated frown and the tip of his tongue out. Lance makes his way slowly, ducking a little bit until he is on the opposite side of the display, a big smile on his face. He has a deja vu when he says,

"Hey, buddy!"

This time, however, there is no hitting the head though, as Hunk just looks up confused and then registers Lance face on the other side, a wide smile appearing on his face.

"Lance! Hi!" He walks to the corner to step away from the corner and rushes to hug him. Lance leans to the touch, hugging him back just as tightly. "You are just in time! The brownies are ready!"

"Oh, I'm so ready," Lance says a little bit obscenely, earning a swat in the head from Hunk. He laughs loudly, walking to the counter with Hunk, who gets behind it and walks to the kitchen. His mother appears with two coffee cups and gestures to a table in front of the window. He pulls the chair for his mother to sit and when she is comfortable, he sits on the other one, taking one of the coffee cups.

"Did you take out the laundry?" His mother asks, looking at him over the cup as she sips from her coffee. He rolls his eyes, a smile on his lips.

"I will do it when I get home. It's not like it's going anywhere," he says, sipping from the cup. The sweetness that rushes through his tongue sends shivers down his spine, the familiar feeling improving his mood. He is so glad that his mother still knows that he loves caramel in his coffee. He gives her a smile, no doubt his eyes glinting. He feels at peace.

"How are you feeling hijo?" She asks, smiling back at him.

"Well, you know..." he starts, truly debating if he should say the truth.

It's not that Lance is a liar or that he never tells the truth, and less when it comes to his mother. He is a mama's boy and he would never hide anything from her, but... sometimes it feels like he will be a burden, or that she doesn't need to hear his self-wallowing, so he sometimes decides to omit the truth. That's all. He says the truth, just not all of it. Sue him. But if he was being honest, he has become tired of not being able to share what he feels with the person he trusts the most, and he sure as hell knows that his mother is also tired of living in a loophole of _I'm fine_ and _Don't worry about it_. His therapist told him that if he wanted to be understood, he should say what he feels. It is easier said than done, but he is willing to try.

"I just... I am tired of doing nothing," he finishes, running a hand through his hair. "But at the same time, I don't want to do anything? It's just, you know, if I were to do something, it would be writing, but right now, I am..." he stares at the table, thoughtful, "scared? I postponed the deadline for the chapters of my book, and I don't feel like writing them. And if I don't write them, then what else am I supposed to write?" He looks at her, his shoulders slumped and a small pout in his face, brows furrowed. "I have writer's block. It's just not enjoyable anymore."

She looks at him, taking his hand in hers and tilting her head, surely thinking of a way to console him.

"Why don't you write something else?" She asks, genuine curiosity in her voice.

Just the mere thought makes Lance want to gag though. He just can't imagine doing things out of order. He finished one chapter and starts the other. He finishes a book and starts another. He never breaks the order. How could he? He tried it once and it ended up horribly because it was just not ideal. And that is how Lance's life is. Finish one thing and then start something else. The overwhelming sense of starting another chapter when he hasn't finished the previous one or starting things without thoroughly thinking it through is what's killing him and he can't fathom the idea of even trying. He needs structure in his life.

"It doesn't feel right."

"Mmm," his mother hums, sipping from her cup of coffee. "But you feel bored when you do nothing?"

"Yeah..." Lance says it more like a question than like a statement.

"Well, I feel like that too," his mother says, placing the cup on the table and looking at him with gentle eyes. "This is why I work with Hunk. I would go crazy if all I did was cook and wait for the kids to come home. When Hunk told me that he needed a manager, I was elated," she smiles at him. "Out of the top of your head, without thinking, what would you like to do?"

Lance stays silent, a million things running through his head.

"Stay," he says abruptly, putting a stop to his thoughts and looking at his mother. She nods encouragingly. "Maybe... Open a local newspaper. I still don't understand why we don't have one," he says with a laugh, a warm feeling running through him. "Maybe write my own columns about the lives of the people here. And giving the kids at the local college a job, the experience is an important part of finding a job."

He has a smile on his face, sitting comfortably in the chair, looking at the window that gives to the street. It would be nice. To be able to do things at his own pace. To be able to help others out. To be able to do different things. To be able to find his own happiness. Just thinking about it sends a rush through him, excited about what could be and how he could feel at peace with himself while making his family and himself happy. It is something that only happens in fairy tales though. Reality has always been cruel.

"Well sweetheart, you are a McClain. Anything that you put your head to, you can achieve."

He feels a sudden tap on his shoulder and he turns around, looking at a small girl with glasses and bangs. She is looking at the floor, holding a napkin and a pen in her hand. He frowns, curious but confused as the girl chances a glance at him and when their eyes meet, she stutters and looks back down. He turns and looks at his mother questioningly, but she just shrugs with a knowing smile on her face.

"Are you..." the girl ventures, trying to push the bangs out of her face, "are you Lance McClain?"

Lance raises his eyebrows and smiles a little bit. Even after all this time, he is still not used to when people recognize him.

"Yeah, hi!"

She looks up and smiles at him, which makes his chest tighten.

"Oh! Uh..." she looks around and then holds up the napkin and pen. "Can I get...? Can you...?"

Lance smiles at her reassuringly, taking the napkin and the pen, signing it the best he can.

"Yeah, I really liked your last book!" Lance stops scribbling, frowning again and looking at her. She is blushing madly, but smiling nonetheless; she nods at him, continuing her rambling. "I know that most people didn't like it, but for me, it was really meaningful because it was so real! And I also could relate to the feelings that the main character went through and the breakup!" She was flailing her hands now. "It was so amazing because it was not cliche, you know? No, of course, you know. But it felt so real, like if it was my story! And I am so glad someone has written about this kind of feelings because-"

She stops on her tracks when she sees Lance's eyes welling with tears. Although it's not the first time someone has ranted about his books in front of him, it is the first time that someone actually talks about his last book. The same book that has him on edge every time he sits to write again because his editor raged about how it had the lowest rating and how they didn't make good money out of it; the same book that made his relationship with Nyma dwindle because he did take from their relationship, just not the good parts. The book that kept him up at night because it was the first book in which he actually poured his own feelings into and not just what he thought people wanted to read. His mother snaps him out of it by placing her hand on his shoulder and wiping his tears. He shakes his head and chuckles, looking back at the girl, who had a horrified expression on her face.

"I'm sorry," he says, smiling again at her. "It's just the first time someone says something nice about that book." He laughs. "What's your name again?"

"Plaxum," the girl blurts out, a shade of red on her cheeks. "I'm sorry..."

"Oh no! It is fine!" He signs the napkin and gives it back to her, taking her hands in the process. Her eyes widen and she looks straight at him. "Thank you very much. I am glad that it helped you," he says with gentle eyes. She nods and takes the napkin.

He doesn't register when her arms wrap him in an embrace. He laughs softly and hugs her back. She soon was out the door, leaving Lance to feel the lingering sense of accomplishment, no matter how small it is.

"Are you okay?" His mother asks, looking at him reassuringly, but with a hint of worry at the same time. He nods, smiling at her reassuringly. They have a silent conversation the same way they used to when Lance didn't want to say things out loud but still wanted his mother to know how he was feeling. It might sound dumb, but he did have a connection with his mother. She sighs with relief and smiles wider.

Hunk calls his mother and they go back to reality. His mother shrugs slightly, scrunching her face as if to say "bummer" and Lance follows her to the counter, where Hunk has a cardboard box laid out with Lance's name on it. He frowns but has a smile on his face. He doesn't have to open the box to know what's inside; he can already smell the chocolatey goodness that is inside and he can't think of anything else that just eating them all in a sitting.

"I'm sorry buddy, but we have to go back to work," Hunk says without looking at him, instead whisking something in a bowl with precision. Lance chuckles and takes the cardboard. "But you are totally welcome to hang out here if you want to."

He was ready to accept when his phone vibrates with a notification. It is a text from none other than Keith. He smiles wider.

"It's cool," he says, reading the short text.

_Wanna hang?_

"I'm hanging out with Keith," Lance finishes, looking back at Hunk, who stops, raises his eyebrows and looks at him curiously.

"Are you sure it's a good idea?" He asks, placing a hand on his hip and giving him _that_ look.

It is something that he had missed, although he wouldn't admit that out loud. He knows what that look means, reminding him back of his junior year when he started to hang out more with Keith. Hunk had been ecstatic at first because that meant they were no longer bickering and fighting every time they saw each other. It was less exciting when Lance admitted to Hunk midsummer that he had a crush on Keith. It was even worse the night he had snuck some alcohol from his parents' cupboard and spent the night drinking with Keith and realized his feelings would never be reciprocated and he cried to Hunk about it. He knows also that this time could be the same, that maybe this was how it went downhill and soon he would be leaving, wounded and unloved once again to fend for himself in the city.

"Don't worry," Lance says, winking at him, although his tone wavers, "he will never take your place as my best friend."

"You know that's not what this is about."

"It won't happen again, Hunk, don't worry. I am an adult now," he says, grinning and wiggling his eyebrows. "I won't repeat my mistakes again."

"Fine," Hunk huffs, going back to whisking. "I trust you. And Keith has changed, so maybe this time it will be different."

At that Lance raises his eyebrows. He nods slightly, heading for the door.

"Maybe," he calls back.

☆☆☆

“Hey, Keith,” Lance says out loud, staring at the white ceiling in Keith’s apartment, his stomach crushed under Kosmo’s weight and his arm brushing with Keith’s. The familiarity of the silence keeps it comfortable; they used to stare at the ceiling in Keith’s room in high school, a ceiling filled with glow stars that they put up because they liked the idea of space, of the vastness of the universe and how they were so small in comparison. “What do you think of love stories?”

“Nothing in particular, honestly,” he answers, turning his head to look at Lance’s profile. He admires the bridge of his nose and the few freckles that splash on Lance’s cheek. “Why?”

“I don’t know,” Lance sighs, his eyes set on the ceiling. “It’s just that all this time I have been writing what I think other people want to read? Well, not really, my last book was really close to my feelings, but it was a failure and my editor told me to never do something like that again because-”

“Hold up,” Keith says, sitting straight up and looking at Lance with a frown. “What do you mean your last book was close to your feelings? And a failure?” Keith scratches the back of his head, legitimately confused. “It was the one that I liked the most.”

It is Lance’s turn to sit up straight, brows furrowing, but a tentative smile forms on his lips.

“You have read my books?”

“Oh my god,” Keith rolls his eyes, throwing his hands on the air. “Is that really all you are going to say?”

Lance grins, leaning close to Keith.

“Aww, Keith, that’s so sweet.”

“Shut up, loverboy. It’s not like there’s a lot of things to do in this town anyway,” Keith says, turning his face away from Lance so that he can’t see his blush; he doesn’t lean away, however, their shoulders touching. Even after all this time, the nickname still sends shivers through Lance’s spine in excitement.

“Anyways,” Lance says, laughing softly. He lays down again, placing his arms under his head. “Yeah, I...” he hesitates for a moment. He has never told anyone what happened between him and Nyma (besides his therapist) and he doesn’t really want to speak about it, but Keith has always been understanding, always giving Lance the time he needed when displaying his fears, his vulnerabilities. “I was tired of just, dumb romance, you know? I wanted to write about real feelings, a heart-wrenching story, something very close to reality. A different kind of love, if you may.” Keith snorts but doesn’t say anything, taking his place next to Lance on the floor. “Around that time I was dating this girl and, I really thought things would be great, you know? It didn’t turn out that way, but those feelings were real and I wanted to convey that to others.”

He takes a deep breath, remembering how Nyma always told everyone how she was Lance’s muse even though they didn’t know each other at the time. He also remembers her face when one of her friends told her about Lance’s last book and how, although this time she had been his inspiration, it was nothing good. He remembers how she called him selfish and that it wasn’t her job to deal with his feelings and his troubles, how she was perfect for him and he would never find anyone like her, anyone who would put up with his anxiety or depression. He remembers how guilty he felt during their relationship, how unloved and mistreated he was (something he didn’t realize until after their break up). He remembers the pressure building up in his chest because although he wrote about his real feelings ad he felt satisfied and proud of his work, everyone else hated it. He remembers how people complained of not getting their conventional love story, complaining that it was not real, that love stories were meant to have happy endings.

“Do you regret it?” Keith asks quietly, sensing Lance’s uneasiness.

_Well, Keith likes my story. And so do Hunk and mom. And Plaxum._

“No. Not at all,” he answers with a smile on his face. He stretches his arms above his head. “But I’m kind of in a slump, you know? Because I am tired of the romanticizing of love stories. I want something genuine, but I don’t know how? I feel like I reached my peak and then everything is just downhill from now on.”

Keith sits up a second time, but this time he gets up and walks to his bookcase, rummaging for a few seconds before taking the book he had been looking for. He turns around, opening the book and walking back to where Lance is, sitting with his legs crossed, his eyes scanning the pages as if looking for something. Lance recognizes the cover of the book and he gives Keith a confused look, but then Keith points to the book aggressively.

“ _But life isn’t about the good or the bad,_ ” he reads out loud and Lance’s eyes widen a faint blush on his cheeks. “ _It is about what you make of this good or bad, and although I don’t know where to go from here, I will make something great out of it._ ”

“Oh God, this is so cringy,” Lance squeaks, covering his face with his hands and rolling to the side opposite from Keith.

“I think you can take some of your own advice, you know?” Keith says, pulling Lance’s arms away from his face, wrestling him gently until he can see his face. “You may not know where to go from here, but whatever you want to do, it will be great.”

Lance blushes, even more, pushing Keith away and sitting down.

“I want to write about a different kind of love,” he decides, taking the book from the floor and caressing its spine. He never kept hard copies, but it felt good to have one on his hands.

“Like what?”

“I don’t know?”

They stay silent for a while, Lance glancing at the pages of words that he knows by heart, some of which hunt him for how vulnerable they make him feel, some filling him with pride.

“What about self-love?”

Lance snorts.

“Yeah, that’s the least kind of love I have right now.”

“Well, maybe,” Keith says, ignoring the undertone of his comment, “maybe you can learn to find it? Self-discovery and self-love are just as important to love stories as the cliche ones that you write about.”

Lance wants to counter, but he finds himself at a loss of words. His eyebrows rise dangerously as if wanting to merge with his hairline because he never thought of that. He always thought that love stories were restricted to be between two people, not just by yourself. But the concept of self-love, although something he is fairly wary about, sparks his interest, the fire that usually drives him. He doesn’t know where to start, but just thinking about it makes his heart race, the excitement flowing through his veins. A small smile forms on his lips. He may not know where to go from here, but he knows that he will make something great out of it.

“How do you do self-love?” He asks curiously.

“Okay, this may be dumb,” Keith says after mulling it over for a while, “but sometimes I take some blankets and drive to the field near the lake and lay there at night with a bottle of wine. I just look at the stars freely, no stress, no bad thoughts, just me and buzzy thoughts. It is great.”

Lance laughs, looking at the ceiling once again.

“You are really weird, you know?”

“Shut up McClain, I’m not the one asking how do you do self-love. Just, I don’t know? Do more of your skincare routine or something.”

“I don’t think that’s how it works, buddy.”

Keith huffs in frustration, crossing his arms above his chest.

“Start believing in yourself,” Keith says, looking directly into Lance’s blue eyes. “Do not put the amount of pressure you usually put in yourself. Not everything has to be perfect, and I know that’s not how it works with you, but you have to learn how to let it go. You usually do well anyways.”

“Is this about how I would study myself to sleep during finals and I dragged you with me? Because in my defense, you were the one that asked me to study with you.”

“Yeah, but I didn’t ask for you to take all my nights like that!”

“Oh, Keith, aren’t you mad that I took your heart too?”

“Fuck off Lance,” Keith says, kicking him in his stomach with a smile on his face. “But I’m serious. You put too much pressure in yourself. I know that it is probably the lifestyle of the city, but whatever you do, your family and your friends will always be proud.”

Lance looks at Keith, his furrowed brows, his determined pout, the way his arms hold him as he waits expectantly for Lance to reply. He has always been like this, pushing Lance further and helping him realize his unhealthy habits. Whenever he would fly away in his doubt, Keith grounded him to the ground. The tug on his chest feels heavy with memories, with what was once there and could possibly be again, but he can’t allow himself to go through that again. _I have to learn self-love first_ , he thinks to himself, watching the way the light reflects against Keith’s dark eyes, how they look like a beautiful nebula with stars framing it all, how his hair falls menacingly from his loose ponytail, his hair longer than it used to be (and Lance would be lying if he said that he didn’t want to run his hands through it). But more than anything, he takes in the sincerity that Keith presents him with, his determination to make Lance feel proud of himself, to make him understand that Lance is worth it.

“Are you proud of me?” He raises his eyebrows suggestively at Keith, who rolls his eyes and gets up, taking the book with him back to the bookcase.

“Of course I am,” he hears him say softly, probably just for him to hear.

He may not know where to go from here, but he definitely knows now that, whatever it is, he will make something great out of it.


	5. End of Summer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it's been long since I updated this, but college is killing me (:
> 
> I am very grateful for all the feedback, kudos, and love that you have given to this fic and it has motivated me to keep getting better! As an apology for being M.I.A, this is a long chapter that I have been working on for a while and I really enjoyed it, so I hope you guys enjoy it too!
> 
> Stay safe!
> 
> PS: I may or may have not modeled the city with my experiences in San Francisco... Also, at this point, I'm just taking inspiration from ONEWE's title tracks for the titles of my chapters XD

“There is no way in hell, Pidge.”

“Oh, you better get ready sharpshooter, I am going to _destroy_ you.”

They both stand in front of the machine, their coins ready to fill the machine so that it comes alive and give them space for their competition. Lance doesn’t understand how they got here, something about _let me teach you about self-love_ , a call to their friends, and an impromptu visit to Keith’s apartment for all of them to get in their cars and end up in the town arcade. They used to come here after finals during high school, always betting and always competing against each other to see who could make the most tickets. It was then when Keith and Lance’s competitive nature took over, sometimes ending in fights or quarrels on who made the most tickets or how Keith is a cheater when it comes to Pac-Man. Hunk would hug both of them at the same time until they couldn’t breathe, taking their heads off the topic and they would end up in the ice cream parlor that was close by, laughing at each other.

Lance had missed that in the city until he learned about a place that operated arcade games near the coast. He was elated and sometimes would head down by himself after a particularly tough exam or when he was too stressed out, reminiscing of the time he would go with his friends. This godsend place was were Lance mastered and perfected his skills on skee ball, surprising everyone at the arcade and even earning a special place in the Hall of Fame of the place. So yeah, there is no way in hell that after all the practice and sweat and tears he produced in the city arcade place he was going to lose to Pidge. They don’t know what is coming and Lance is ecstatic to hand it to them.

“Oh, it’s on, gremlin.”

“Guys,” Hunk interjects, looking at them nervously. “Remember what happened in junior year? We were almost kicked out, please keep it down.”

“Hunk,” Keith says, placing a hand on the man’s broad shoulder, “don’t worry. Let them go at it. It’s not like any of them can break my record.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure,” Lance says, not bothering to look at Keith’s smug smile and putting the coins inside the machine.

“Yeah Keith, that is a very old record,” says Pidge, introducing their coins as well.

The balls fall down and the machine comes to life. He takes the first one and aims for the 100 hole, throwing the ball as swiftly as he can. Now, every time he practiced in the arcade in the city, he would always get it right; after all, he had mastered the wrist move to make the ball get in the highest holes _every time_.

However, this time, it hits the glass that prevented it from rolling away and falls inside the 10 hole. He frowns, taking the next ball and trying again. He is lucky this time and it enters the 20 hole. Pidge, on the other hand, rakes up 20 and 40 points every time they throw a ball, leaving Lance’s ranking behind. He can hear Hunk’s and Keith’s chuckled as they watch how Pidge grows the gap between their score. He grows frustrated and throws the balls recklessly as the time counts backward, only thirty seconds left before the game is over. He rakes 60 more points before the time is up and turns to find that he has been utterly defeated by Pidge.

“How is this possible?!” He shrieks as Pidge laughs loudly next to him, collecting all the tickets they earned. He takes the small strip of tickets from the machine and pouts slightly.

“I told you I would destroy you, McClain. Now the drinks are on you!”

Behind them, Hunk and Keith whoop, throwing their hands in the air at the mention of free alcohol. Lance turns and glares daggers at his two friends.

“Hunk, how dare you?” He exclaims, throwing his hands in the air with exasperation. He has been practicing all this time in the city. What had gone wrong? How could he lose against Pidge in his own craft? What he didn’t realize until after he had gone to sleep that night was that the skee ball machine in the city didn’t have a protective glass.

“I’m sorry buddy, but I don’t make the rules.”

“Traitor!”

Pidge snickers and when their eyes land on a Space Invaders machine, they take Hunk’s hand and pull him along, blabbering about how it had been so long since the last time they played and that they _had_ to play again and _Come on Hunk, I miss this._ They both leave and Keith and Lance look at each other with a smile on their faces. Lance can attest too that he had missed this, that’s for sure. Keith suddenly takes Lance’s hand and pulls him along, a laugh coming out of Lance as he follows, the cheery music and the sound of machines playing around them. It feels surreal, to be here, having fun with his friends when a few weeks ago he felt like he was probably going to die. Keith brings him to the corner of the arcade, popular for their hidden spots claimed by couples and the claw machines. Lance wonders which of the two it is going to be when Keith takes out two coins from his pocket and smiles mischievously at Lance, who rolls his eyes but matches his smirk.

“I bet that I can get that hippo plushie on the first try,” Keith says, leaning on the machine and raising an eyebrow suggestively as he used to every time he wanted to rile Lance up; it also worked when they both wanted to get some alone time together, but that’s another story. Lance crosses his arms above his chest and raises his own eyebrow, cocking his hip to the side.

“Yeah, I don’t think so mullet,” he grins. “I bet you can’t get it.”

“Oh, it’s on, loverboy.” Lance will never admit that the nickname still makes his heart flutter and his cheeks blush. “And just so you know, it’s not a mullet anymore. It is long enough to be put on a braid.”

Lance laughs loudly, placing himself next to Keith, who introduces the two coins in the machine, which comes to life with light and colors. Keith takes the stick and moves it slightly to the right, where the hippo plushie is buried. Lance takes the opportunity to wrap an arm around Keith’s waist, leaning heavily against his shoulder, and placing his chin on his shoulder. Keith takes a deep breath, eyes never leaving the claw of the machine, but Lance can feel faintly the spike in his heartbeat and see the blush on his cheeks. He smiles widely, turning his face slightly towards Keith, waiting for the perfect moment. Keith hesitates, his hand over the big, red button as he takes a deep breath, a smile playing on his lips. Lance takes this as a cue and sighs deeply in Keith’s ear, who presses the button at the exact moment.

They both watch as the claw falls down and engulfs the hippo plushie, hugging it tightly; lifting the plushie up, Lance and Keith holding their breath, watching fearfully as the claw moves to the left side, the plushie dangling precariously as it reaches the corner and the claw lets it fall to the dispatching hole. Lance’s eyes widen, clutching Keith’s black sweater in disbelief because he has never seen anyone be able to take a plushie out in the first try. How was it even possible? Keith, on the other hand, laughs loudly as he gently pulls Lance away from him and collects his prize. Lance frowns at him and soon after Keith gets up again, Lance pins him against the machine, a small pout on his face. Keith chuckles, although the blush in his face is visible. They stare at each other for a few seconds, Lance trying to decipher Keith’s expression, but being captured by the stars in his eyes. It had always been hard to look at Keith for too long because Lance always ended up staring into those eyes. Keith pushes a lock of Lance’s hair back and grins, a hint of mischievousness in his face.

“You owe me, McClain,” he says, soft as a whisper, just for the both of them to hear and it occurs to Lance that maybe, just maybe, he is not talking just about the game but going further than that. And although it should scare Lance, his heart is filled with relief. Things have changed, and maybe Keith had finally forgiven him just as Lance had forgiven him for the past and, maybe, just maybe, this time he could finally heal.

“Oh, sure,” he rolls his eyes, getting closer at Keith with a smile, his hands brushing against Keith’s waist. “You probably have the machine rigged.”

Keith throws his head back and bellows with laughter, making Lance laugh as well. When Keith looks back at him, there is a crinkle in his eyes, a sign of expectation. Lance takes the time to admire Keith, his hair that was indeed longer than before, his creased eyebrows, his eyes holding the galaxy, and the scar that runs down his right cheek. Lance can’t believe that after all the time he spent in the city and all the people he had met, Keith still manages to make his insides feel jittery, Keith still makes the pressure on his chest go away just by smiling, but more than anything, Keith still makes him feel at ease, regardless of whatever he is going through.

He must have been staring at Keith weirdly because he clears his throat and puts the hippo between them (Lance didn’t realize that they had gotten _this_ close).

“Uh, this is yours, by the way,” Keith says, looking everywhere but at Lance. “Keep it.”

Lance’s eyes widen.

“Really?!” He exclaims, a little bit overly excited. “But you won it, it’s yours.” He takes the plushie in his hands, turning it with a smile on his face.

“It’s fine. You can...” Keith swallows heavily, running a hand through his hair, looking at the floor. “You can take it back to the city and that way you will not forget me.”

Lance stares at him, a small jab at his heart, but warming all the same. He smiles softly at the other man.

“Awww, Keith, who knew you were a smooth motherfucker?”

Keith scoffs and hits Lance’s shoulder gently, rolling his eyes. Regardless of his cold act, Lance knows that Keith is smiling too, and he can’t help but feel extremely happy in this exact moment, away from all his problems, away from all his worries and surrounded by upbeat music and the people he cares about, surrounded by Keith’s attempts to make him have fun. He throws an arm around Keith’s shoulders, matching his smile. On his other hand, he holds the hippo plushie tightly.

“Where to now?”

As opposed to what they did in high school, this time, his friends take him to the downtown bar after the arcade closes (or practically kicks them out). There, they meet with Allura and Romelle, who stumbles a little bit at first every time Lance addresses her in a conversation but soon gains the confidence to joke with him. It doesn’t take long for him to feel comfortable around her and soon, Matt joins them. They occupy a big, round table, drinks coming and going as they blabber and talk loudly over the band playing on the opposite side of the tables, a dance floor separating them. Lance laughs loudly at Matt’s and Pidge’s dispute on who will be winning this season’s video game championship (which is supervised by Pidge), leaning against Hunk’s shoulder. In hindsight, Lance didn’t understand anything of what they were talking about, but after a few beers, everything was funny.

“Alright, guys, shut the fuck up,” Allura says, a hand in her forehead, but still giggling. Lance looks at her with wide eyes; it may not be the first time Lance had seen her curse, but it had been a long while since he did. She bursts out laughing at his face and soon everyone joins in.

“Allura, language!” Keith says, pointing his finger at nowhere in particular and tries to imitate Shiro’s low voice. They all laugh once again.

“Let’s go dancing,” Lance says, feeling lighthearted, his eyes crinkling with the smile on his face. Pidge gets up, fixing their overall and clearing their throat. This night is really filed with surprises, but Lance takes them nonetheless. He guides Pidge to the dance floor, followed by Romelle and Allura. They form a circle and dance to the beat of the music. Lance has always loved dancing; ever since he can remember, his family would dance at all the family gatherings, so it is fair to say that dancing is in his blood. He remembers the time he first invited his friends to one of his family gatherings and they were completely stunned when they were rushed to the dance floor (which then was the backyard in Lance’s house); at first, it was a little bit awkward, but bachata and merengue are hard to learn, even for Lance. However, after fiddling around, they started to loosen up. To Lance, that is one of his fondest memories.

So now, enjoying the beat of the music and laughing with his friends makes him feel light as if all his worries have been lifted from his shoulder. He laughs when Pidge locks arms with Hunk and they start to stump in a circle, Keith next to him doubling in laughter. Lance doesn’t know how many songs have past or when his friends sat down, but now he is attempting to match the beat with some salsa moves while Keith tries not to laugh on his face. Lance scrunches his nose and takes Keith’s hand, trying to row him to do the same. Keith humors him, swaying with him with a hint of a smile on his face. Soon, Keith wraps his arms around Lance’s neck, pressing himself against Lance, who snakes his arms around Keith’s waist. He knows this is unknown territory, that after making out with Keith in his own house, there were only two ways this could go; they could either go back to what they had in high school, something unspoken, but intense, something that left Lance with all his doubts and all his dreams at the same time, or it could go awfully wrong, just like it did when he left for the city.

“Hey there,” Keith says, looking into Lance’s eyes.

“Hey,” Lance says, a soft smile playing on his lips.

Time seems to slow down as he sways softly, Keith in his arms, and for the first time since he left for the city, he feels at peace, as if nothing in the world could spoil this. He doesn’t care what others think about him for once, or what others might say about him, after all, he is no longer in the spotlight; here, he is just a regular boy. He feels light like this is where he is meant to be, Keith’s head resting in the crook of his neck, no doubt a smile on his face as well, and both of them at ease, like it is supposed to be.

“You know,” Keith says softly, and even over the music, Lance can hear him, a soft whisper that is meant to be heard only by Lance. “It took me a long time to realize that spending time with you guys actually made me feel better. And I hope you can realize that as well.”

Lance hums, lowering his head to look at Keith. They stare at each other for a moment, Lance drowning in Keith’s galaxy eyes.

“Is this some lesson on self-love?” Lance huffs, turning his head away to hide his blush.

“Maybe,” Keith grins widely at him.

And it may be the lights flickering and dancing in his face, framing his expression, or the giddy feeling in his chest that he gets when he sees Keith’s toothy grin or the dumb words that probably won’t make any sense without context, but Lance understands. Spending time with his friends does make him feel better.

☆☆☆

“Lance! Lance, get up!”

Lance jolts awake, getting up from his bead and walking rapidly to the door in his room to open it, the light blinding him completely and making him frown. He hears Nadia’s and Sylvio’s footsteps, running on the living room downstairs. He rubs his eyes with the back of his hand and groans, pressing his eyes closed and then opening them again to see Rachel with her arms crossed over her chest and her eyebrows raised. He frowns at her and crosses his arms above his chest, imitating her stance.

“What?”

“It’s three in the afternoon, Lance.”

“I’m sorry, but naps are part of my self-care routine now,” Lance says, leveling her stare and raising his own eyebrows. “You can be jealous all you want.”

“Whatever,” Rachel says, rolling her eyes. “Food is ready. Mom wants you downstairs now.”

Lance just nods and gets into his room, putting some joggers on and running down the stairs. He sees everyone around the table, his mom finishing with the plates and smiling when he takes his place around the table. Even after being home for a while, he is grateful every time they have family meals because it reminds him of his childhood. He had also missed real homecooked food, but the sense of family and lightness that came from being surrounded by the people he loves can never be matched. He stares at the food in front of him, ready to dive in the very second his mother sits down.

Suddenly, his phone rings.

He takes it out of his pocket, looking at the screen, ready to answer when he sees the name displayed boldly. He slams his phone face down on the table, earning curious and worried looks from his family. The phone continues to ring mercilessly as he stares at nowhere in particular. His breathing becomes erratic, the pressure on his chest increasing a few pounds per second; his throat feels dry. Should he drink water? Yeah, maybe he should drink water.

“Lance,” Rachel asks, next to him, a frown in her face. “Are you okay?”

“Is there something wrong?” Luis chimes in, coming from the kitchen with some napkins.

He feels the eyes of his family on him, and the incessant noise of the phone rings in his ears quite loudly. He presses his eyes closed and takes a deep breath. He tries to picture a blank canvas in his mind, just as his therapist taught him, but it isn’t until his mother lays her hands on his shoulders that he exhales loudly, relaxing on her touch. When he opens his eyes, there is a glass of iced tea in front of him, his family around him eating normally while Rachel is screaming incessantly in Spanish on his phone. He should probably be terrified to death about it, but he finds it hilarious, so he laughs loudly. Veronica joins him and soon they are all laughing, tears running down his face, but from happiness this time. They finish their meal, as usual with a round of bickering around the table, praising his mother’s cooking skills, and fighting over who is going to wash the dishes. Luckily, Marco ends up with that responsibility.

“Lance,” his mother calls after him. He turns around and comes down the stairs. She is holding a small tray with the leftover lasagna, cleanly wrapped with tinfoil. “Do you have anything to do?”

“Uh...” Lance runs a hand through his hair. “Not really?”

“Excellent!” She exclaims, giving him the tray and cleaning her hands in her apron. “Can you please take this to Keith? I am pretty sure he hasn’t eaten at all today. He might also use the company, you know, being a bad day and all...” she keeps ranting, but Lance just looks at her in confusion.

“What do you mean? Are you cooking for Keith now?”

“No _mijo_ , today is the anniversary.” When Lance gives her a dumbfounded look, she rolls her eyes, putting her hands on her hips. “From his father’s death.”

Lance’s eyes widen.

“Holy shit.”

“Language!” She hits him at the back of his head and he groans, rubbing the spot. “Now, be a good boy and go hang out with your friend.”

“Yes mom,” he says softly, frowning at the tray of lasagna on his hands.

Showing up at Keith’s apartment with the tray of lasagna was probably the best idea because when Keith opens the door with his eyes partially closed and an awful bed hair, all Lance can do is stare. It may be because of the situation or just because it’s been a while since he saw Keith’s bed hair, but is still awkward nonetheless when Keith just frowns at him, silently judging Lance for awakening him from his slumber.

“Hey buddy...” he says, trying to give him his best smile. “Uh, lasagna?” He asks, showing the tray in his hand and hoping that Keith doesn’t slam the door shut on his face. Keith stares him up and down for a second and then nods, closing his eyes and turning to the kitchen as he rubs his stomach under his shirt. Lance takes it as a signal to come in.

The first thing he notices is the scent of incense; turning his head to the living room he finds a few blankets and pillows laying in front of the bookcase, where one of the cubicles holds a small shrine with Keith’s father’s picture. He remembers showing respect once in junior year along with Pidge and Hunk, a year after the accident. It feels wrong that he forgot about the anniversary, mostly because he knows how Keith gets, more broody than usual, but more than anything, more vulnerable. Lance walks to the table, putting the tray on it and helping Keith arrange the plates in silence. Keith seems more awake now, stealing furtive glances at Lance from time to time, a concerned expression on his face. They sit down, Kosmo laying his head on Lance’s lap. Lance looks at Keith, who fumbles with his fork, staring at the piece of lasagna in front of him.

“Are you okay?” Lance asks, taking his own fork. He might have eaten before, but his mother’s lasagna is to die for, so he doesn’t mind having a second piece.

“Yeah,” Keith answers immediately. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Keith,” Lance sighs. “You know you don’t have to lie to me, right?”

Keith takes a huge bite from his lasagna, making it clear that he won’t speak with his mouth full. He proceeds to do this the next three times, so Lance rolls his eyes.

“Fine, you will have to listen to my rant then,” Lance says. “Writing has been a pain in my ass,” he starts; “like, I’m supposed to be good at it? But I can’t write a single word? Like, what’s up with that?” He snorts. “You would think that making a living out of something helps you practice, but it doesn’t! I am in a slump, Keith! Do you know how many things I have written about just to get my mind off of it?” he takes a deep breath. “I started writing erotica, Keith, erotica! Who do I think I am? We both know I can’t pull a _Fifty Shades of Grey!_ "

“Because you don’t have a good reference?” Keith says softly, a smile playing on his face. Lance puts his hand on his heart dramatically.

“How dare you speak of yourself like that?” Keith snorts. “You know what? I might as well just write about our little escapades...”

“God, Lance, no..” Keith laughs.

“Yes! Like when we would skip Iverson’s class just to fool around under the bleachers? Classic story Keith!”

Keith shakes his head, but a small smile plays on his lips, he takes another piece of his lasagna.

“Remember that time we fooled Shiro into thinking that we were studying for our History final? And we actually went to another city? How romantic is that?”

“They had to go pick us up,” Keith says, cackling. “Your parents were so pissed!”

“And Shiro’s face was priceless!”

They both laugh loudly.

“And remember that time you actually convinced me to skip school...”

“Don’t you dare!” Keith says with a gasp.

“... just to watch you skip rocks at the lake because you said, and I quote, ‘you were going to beat the record of most skips in a lake’ and you proceeded to fail miserably by throwing the rock to the other side and harming a poor old lady?”

Keith laughs loudly, snorting, and placing his face on his hands. Lance laughs too, his eyes never leaving Keith’s red face. Kosmo looks at Keith worriedly, wagging his tail against his feet.

“It was not on purpose! She just happened to be there!”

“Yes Keith, she randomly decided to stand in front of you and get hit by a rock? I don’t think so.”

Keith rolls his eyes, the smile still on his face. They stay silent again, but this time is more comfortable. It’s just like old times, being comfortable enough that there is no need to speak. They finish and clean their plates, making small talk, Lance sitting on the countertop while Keith washes his plate.

“You know,” Lance says, serious this time. “Nyma called me today.”

“Your ex?”

“Yeah.”

Keith finishes and cleans his hand, leaning against the counter, crossing his arms above his chest, and looking directly at Lance.

“What did she say?”

“I don’t know,” he says, smiling a little bit. “Rachel cursed her out in Spanish though, so that was hilarious.”

Keith snorts.

“Yeah, that’s Rachel alright.”

“I almost had an attack though. If it hadn’t been for my mom I would have probably had collapsed,” Keith looks at him with concern, but Lance waves his hand dismissively. “It’s not that bad, honestly. It’s just... It’s been a while.”

Keith nods, staring at the tiles on the floor.

“My mom wanted me to check on you.” Keith nods, still staring at the floor.

Lance knows that Keith is not very expressive with his feelings; it took a hard toll on him back in high school, trying to guess what Keith was thinking, but he had grown used to it. Keith usually never speaks about it, but he does act on it, so Lance puts a little thought into it before getting what could be his best idea yet.

“Alright, pretty boy,” he says smashing his hands loudly; “take your best blankets and some comforters. Oh, and pillows as well,” he gets down of the counter, taking Keith’s hands and leading him to his bedroom. “Do you have wine?”

Keith looks at him in confusion, but still abides by Lance’s eagerness to take him to his room. In other circumstances, Keith would have been embarrassed and excited about this, but all he expressed from his face was confusion and annoyance. Lance rolls his eyes as he commands Keith to get the comfiest blankets and pillows that he can find. After taking a few pillows from the bed, Keith gets the blankets from the floor of the living room and puts on his shoes at Lance’s command. It takes only a few minutes for them to load Lance’s truck with the blankets and pillows, Keith sitting in the passenger seat holding a bottle of wine and two glasses. He frowns.

“What are we doing?” He asks, running a hand through his face and taking a deep breath. Lance looks at him, unable to hide his concern and takes Keith’s hand in his, earning a surprised look from the other boy. Lance smiles at him, silently pleading him to just roll with it. There is conflict in Keith’s eyes, but when Lance rubs his thumb softly over Keith’s hand, he relaxes, closing his eyes and just nodding at him.

“Don’t worry pretty boy, you’ll definitely not regret this.”

The drive doesn’t take long, the sky turning bright yellow and orange, the sun rays bleeding from a few clouds on the horizon. Lance drives the truck with the windows rolled down, driving easily with one hand while holding Keith’s hand on his other. He hums softly to most of the songs on the radio, sometimes increasing how loud he hums just to annoy Keith, who rolls his eyes but still bobs his head to the beat of the songs. It doesn’t take long for them to reach the entrance of the lake, riding lazily through the road that leads them to the lake. After parking, Lance turns to look at Keith, who frowns, looking back at him with expectation. Lance extends his hand at him and raises his eyebrows; to this, Keith smiles and takes his hand.

Luckily, the people that were in the lake start leaving at this hour. Lance goes to the open back of his truck and starts laying the blankets along with some comforters and the pillows. Keith passes the last pillows and brings the glasses along with the bottle of wine. Lance hops up the back of the truck and takes the glasses and the bottle, putting them away safely. He extends his hand once again towards Keith.

“This way, _your majesty_.”

Keith rolls his eyes, but once again takes it, his grin widening when they both fall on the blankets, comfortable and cozy. The sun starts setting in the distance, bathing them in golden; Lance turns his head to Keith, who is staring at the clouds above him, his profile filled with different shades of orange and yellow, the scar a magnificent purplish against his fare skin, his lashes brushing against his cheeks, and Lance can’t help but feel the giddiness in his heart, a smile embedding itself on his face.

“Thank you,” Keith says silently, turning his head to look at Lance. “You don’t know how much I needed this,” he whispers. Lance notices then that they are close, close enough to feel Keith’s deep breath in his skin, their noses inches apart. Lance looks down to his hand, running a hand through his hair, a blush in his cheeks.

“Don’t thank me, it was my mother’s idea to bring you that lasagna.”

“Was it her idea too to bring me to the lake?” Keith says with a smug smile on his face, lifting Lance’s chin delicately. Lance huffs.

“Okay, fine, you’re welcome,” he says, averting his eyes, but smiling nonetheless. Keith chuckles, shaking his head softly.

“Let’s drink some wine, I can’t stand you sober.”

Lance laughs but proceeds to pour wine on the glasses that Keith brought with them, clinking the glasses and taking a sip. They bask in the golden glow as the breeze flows through the trees, the soft sound they make while they brush against each other ringing in his ears.

“I’m sorry,” Lance says softly, sipping from his glass again; “for having to deal with this on your own I mean.”

“It’s not like I want others to take pity on me,” Keith scoffs, eyeing him over the top of his glass as he also takes a sip.

“Yeah, but... it must be hard, right? I know that I wouldn’t want to deal with these things just by myself.”

Keith doesn’t say anything else, and they continue to drink silently, the sun hiding on the horizon, taking the last specks of light with it, and bringing in the consuming darkness that eats them whole. Soon, the people have left the park and they are the last ones in the parking lot, having drunk the bottle in less than an hour. Lance had forgotten that time became meaningless with Keith and that they could have idle talk and still enjoy each other's company. It reminds him of his childhood, easier times that seemed to run too fast, each day becoming a well spent with his friends and family. He wishes that the real world would be like that, simple, exciting, leaving him to feel giddy every time he goes to bed because he can't help but be excited for what will come the next day.

He sighs.

"I wish I hadn't left," he says simply, his eyes wandering throughout the pool of stars that cloud the night; he realizes that, no matter how beautiful the sight is, the stars in Keith's eyes have always been more beautiful, ethereal, and he wishes he could see them every day for the rest of his life.

"I wish you hadn't," Keith answers, and Lance can feel him rustling against the covers and comforters; a small huff of breath brushes against his neck, and he closes his eyes, basking in the warmth against his skin frozen by the cold breeze. "But I knew you wouldn't have stayed."

It occurs to Lance that, even after all these years, Keith is right. He would have left regardless, which scares him. Most of the problems in his life right now stem from the fact that he left. Keith giggles next to him.

"You can overthink it all you want, but we both know you were meant to leave, Lance." Keith sighs. "I was so jealous of you, but I was also proud. You worked so hard to get there that I couldn't help but admire you, even if it broke me when you left."

It's like a punch in the gut to hear Keith being so truthful, but what hurts Lance the most is the sorrow in Keith's voice combined with a speck of vulnerability; however, there is something else there, and even though Lance is adamant to admit it, he knows that it is fondness. He turns around, finding Keith with his eyes closed; Lance places his hands under his head as leverage, staring at Keith's long lashes before he speaks again.

"Promise me that you won't tell anyone."

Lance is confused, but the tone of amusement and mischief behind Keith's voice halts any semblance of a joke.

"I promise," he whispers. Keith opens his eyes and air is knocked out of Lance, the intensity of Keith's mauve eyes emphasized by the speck of stars.

"I actually intended to go to the city," he confesses, and Lance's heartbeat spikes up; "I applied because I wanted to be with you; I always thought that I had nowhere to go, but with you, I always wanted to be my best self. I wanted to be better because of you Lance, and..." he trails off, staring at Lance so intensely that he feels like he could melt at this moment despite the low chill running through his body. "... I wanted to be better for you too. But-"

Lance grips the front of Keith's shirt and smashes their lips together, teeth clinking in the process, Keith's canines piercing his lip as Lance takes him completely. Keith freezes for a second, surprised, but he melts against him, returning the kiss with the same desperation. Keith runs his hands under Lance's sweater, the thin layer of his shirt preventing him from caressing Lance's skin. Lance pulls Keith closer by the waist, his other hand traveling to his hair, pulling the rubber band free, and burying his hands on the silky thread of Keith's hair. Keith opens his mouth, allowing Lance to taste him more closely and he hums in satisfaction. He pushes against Lance until he is on top of him, pinning his leg against his thighs, the friction inciting a growl from Keith. Lance sucks fervently, going crazy when Keith grows frustrated and yanks behind his shirt to run his cool hands through his abdomen; Lance moves to bring Keith closer, his leg brushing against Keith, which makes him gasp against Lance's lips, his heart fluttering at the sound.

Lance's mind is swirling, falling into the abyss that is kissing Keith, having him on top of him, sucking deep marks on his neck that will probably provoke confused and strange looks from his family, but he loves it all the same; he can't help but pull him closer, taking his face on his hands and bringing him back to his lips, savoring the taste of his tongue as they rock against each other, eliciting delicious noises that Lance is glad are lost in the night. Keith's hands travel to Lance's belt, ready to unbuckle it, and, although he is totally willing, Lance has a moment of lucidity. Groaning, he takes Keith's hands and places them on his neck, swiftly turning them around so that he can be on top of Keith.

Keith keeps his eyes closed, but he scrunches his nose in annoyance from the change in positions. Lance can't help but feel a tug at his heart, kissing the mark on his right cheek slowly, taking his time to tend it delicately. He peppers lips all over Keith's face, earning a giggle from the other man, a matching lip on his face when he nibbles Keith's earlobe. Keith sighs deeply in his ear, sounding content.

"Lance?"

"Mm?"

Lance looks at Keith, eyes staring back at him, skin flushed red, lips swollen and a starry expression on his face. Lance can't help but widen his smile.

"You were right."

Lance brows furrow, giving him a confused look.

"If I had paid attention to Iverson's class, maybe I would have had a better grade and gotten accepted in the city."

The confession surprises him, and the sincerity in Keith's eyes just bewilders him more, so all he can do is laugh. Keith joins him, the laughter rumbling under him. Lance takes deep breaths because, although it is not funny, he can't help but feel light and giddy, enjoying the crinkle in Keith's eyes and his toothy grin. Lance runs a hand through Keith's hair and shakes his head.

"I'm glad you didn't." This confuses Keith, but before he can say anything, Lance continues. "If not, I wouldn't have found you again."

He ends up calling Veronica because they are very drunk and he doesn't want to cause any trouble; after all, he did promise his mother to be back at home safely. When Luis and Veronica show up, Keith is fast asleep next to him, snuggling on the crook of his neck. Lance is too drunk to come up with excuses (although he tries) and Veronica just dismisses it, sharing a look with Luis before he takes the driver seat in the truck and Veronica goes back to her car, and when the cold breeze ruffles his hair, he can't help but be grateful that he was able to come back to his hometown at the end of summer. 

He starts drifting off to sleep when he feels a slight tug on his sweater, finding Keith gripping the front of his sweater, eyebrows furrowed.

"Please don't go back."


	6. Stay

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lance's reality finally dawns on him, anxiety creeping on him and when his editor calls him to push him over the edge, and when Nyma texts him he finally breaks. Screaming as if murdered and running away from home to the lake, Lance contemplates his life. Is it really worth living? Is he on the right path?  
> Keith finds him and tells him that everyone has been looking for him. Lance finally sees a semblance of hope when Keith takes him to his apartment, but he screws it all up when he pushed Keith away by throwing his past in his face. All Lance can think about now is, where does he go from here?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter deals with anxiety, depression, negative thoughts, and mentions of suicide, so it is a huge trigger warning, and it is why I decided to put a chapter summary. As I have stated before, most of these feelings and situations come from my experience. 
> 
> I haven't revised this chapter and I probably won't do it hahahahahaha I'm a procrastinator like that. I hope that I was able to convey the raw emotions that these mental illnesses entail because I want my writing to be as real as possible. Remember that, even if you screw up sometimes, you are valid and you still deserve love. 
> 
> If you ever feel like you aren't enough or you are having suicidal thoughts, please reach out to someone. Here is the Suicide Prevention Hotline in the United States: 1-800-273-8255. You are all free to add other resources if you like!
> 
> This will definitely end well, don't worry! Thank you for the kudos and the comments! Any feedback is appreciated!

Life has always (at least in Lance's experience) been realistic in the sense that, whenever everything is going well, something bad is going to happen. It surprises Lance that it took him long to realize that this burst of happiness was just a fluke. After all, his head was wired and all he could ever do was worry terribly every time he picked up the phone and swiped clear to the 37 missed calls from his editor. Being honest, this is the longest he has ever gone without feeling stressed or scared in the past year, and now it all comes dawning on him; life spares no one and when you least expect it, everything crumbles around you. Ever since he woke up, Lance has had that familiar and feared pressure on his chest. He thought it would be gone or at least it would decrease after coming back home, but now, sitting in front of his computer with a bowl of cereal that remains untouched at his side in a lonely house, all Lance can concentrate in is breathing, because the pressure is so great that he can barely see what is in front of him, trying to catch his breath.

Luckily, nobody is at home. Lance would hate it if someone saw him having a breakdown, although his family has had a few shares of these throughout his life; however, all he can think about is calling his mother. _Adults don't go calling their mothers just because they are sad_ , he thinks to himself, willing the prick of tears in his eyes to go away, to not ruin his already horrible morning, to just disappear alongside him, but he chastises himself. _It is okay to feel sad_ , he reminds himself like all those times his therapist would do when he dismissed his problems and tried to keep on a front. He knows it wasn't healthy and it is one of the reasons why he landed on the shrink in the first place, but he can't help but feel like a burden.

A burden that can't write or do his job properly, because he has been staring at his computer for the past hour and he hasn't gotten any words besides the last paragraph he wrote on the plane to kill time. He takes deep breaths, but it is fruitless given that fat tears roll down his cheeks. It is ridiculous, really, to feel fine one day and feel horrible the next one, but that has been his everyday life, and all Lance can think about is how broken he is. He leans back on the chair of the dining table, tears rolling sideways, a sob trapped in his throat as he wills himself to breathe. He closes his eyes, breathing rapidly, the tears stinging his eyes behind his eyelids, the knot in his throat becoming heavier and heavier, just like the pressure in his chest.

His phone buzzes on the table and his eyes snap open, taking it and mindlessly swiping to answer the call.

" _Lance McClain!_ "

He freezes on the spot, his phone falling from his hands, and luckily getting trapped between his thighs. He stills completely, the voice on the phone screaming ravenously as his heart beats fast, but he doesn't dare to move. The words on the phone were lost behind, but he could make enough for him to understand that this was not happy banter or a call to make sure he was fine. His editor was furious, spitting words with venom like mindless and waste of money and a constant how dare you? She proceeds to call his name incessantly, but what brings him back is when she says,

" _I made you the writer you are today McClain, never forget that! Now get to writing or we will have problems!_ "

He takes the phone and ends the call, his lips pressed in a thin line and the tears continue to fall on his cheek, but the hot trail on his skin feels vibrant; he takes a deep breath, trying to clean his tears roughly, the fabric of his sweater hurting his eyes. His breathing is erratic and frantic, but he can't help himself. Although the pressure in his chest continues to increase, he takes a deep breath, this time from irritation, his heartbeat erratic, infuriated by the words from his editor. He takes a deep breath, running his hands through his hair. He stands up abruptly, the bowl of cereal clattering, the spoon falling to the floor with a _clank!_ and all he can think about is how noisy it is. He snaps his computer shut and takes a deep breath.

The sweet release of screaming without any kind of filter and listening to the sound rebound off the walls appeases Lance for a few seconds, but the tears keep rolling down his cheeks. He screams until his lungs hurt, until his throat feels rusty, but more importantly until his voice can't come out anymore. Thus far, his tears have dried, but the pressure continues to crash his chest, breathing heavily to compensate for the need of air. He takes his phone and rushes to the hallway, putting on his sneakers and rushing through the door, throwing it shut before taking off.

The warmth he gets from the sun through the cold breeze of midday rushes through him as he runs, trying to even his breath as he clutches his phone on his hand. He doesn't have a destination in mind, running to nowhere in particular, but he needs to exhaust himself, he needs to feel the burn on his calves from running excessively, he needs to feel alive. He picks up the pace, making his way through the neighborhood he grew up in, the colors rushing through the corner of his eyes as he focuses his eyes to the road in front of him. He has a sense of deja vu from the time Keith took him to the lake in his bike, which makes him stop on his track. He takes the phone and looks as the screen lights up with life. There are four more missed calls from his editor and, to Lance's surprise, a message from Nyma. If he thought his day couldn't get any worst, he was wrong. He shakes his head, feeling the tears come back and he turns his phone off, taking a deep breath.

He continues to run, his mind never wandering away from the first few words he could read on Nyma's message.

_When are you..._

He frowns, picking up the pace and running faster and faster, his heart rate increasing; he tries to breathe deeply and to keep a steady pattern, but his throat burns from screaming, his nostrils filled with cold air, the beads of sweat running down his temple, and all he can think about are the words from his editor.

How dare he? No. How dare _she_? Lance didn’t work his ass off in high school to win that scholarship. He didn’t work countless of hours in his mother’s restaurant and he didn’t take countless of pupils to tutor to earn enough money to be able to live in the city and follow his dreams for his editor to have the audacity of telling him she made him the writer he is today. He didn’t leave his family and friends and everything he knew for someone to take credit for his achievements. He didn’t struggle to cope with being far away from what he had known as normal for her to say that she was the reason for his success. It enrages him and infuriates him to the core, fueling his anger and making him run faster and faster until he feels lost, dizzy from his erratic breathing, the muscles on his legs aching tremendously.

Even if his eyes sting from the tears, he refuses to let them fall. He stops abruptly, gasping for air, and looks around him. At first, all he sees are trees and the road, but soon his mind connects to his surroundings. If he runs a little further, he will find the entrance of the lake. He grips his phone tightly and runs as if his life depends on it, trying to cloud the thoughts inside his head, the little voice that tells him that he was never good enough and that his editor is right; after all, if it wasn’t for her, he would have never published his book. Without her recommendations, his writing wouldn’t have been a hit. She essentially brought him to where he was, and deep inside he knows that this confirms all of his fears: the fact that he was never good, to begin with, but that he needed someone to make him successful, that by his own, he was never going to make it. That if she hadn’t found him, leaving his home town would have been a waste of time. That he was essentially a nobody that happen to stumble across success. It pains him, and it has been something he had been dealing with ever since he moved to the city.

It doesn’t take him long to reach the entrance of the lake, running faster to reach the dry sand that covers the area, the steady rocking of the water bringing his attention to the exterior. He sits down in the sand and realizes that this was the same place where Keith and brought him when he arrived. He looks around, no person to be seen, and lays himself against the ground, breathing heavily. The numb feeling he gets when the pressure on his chest is too great starts to settle, and all he is left with are his thoughts. It is absurd that, even after months of therapy, being alone with his thoughts still terrifies him. He has always been good at putting up a front and just smile through everything, but every night, he would worry deeply, turning around the same negative thinking over and over until he becomes convinced that it is the truth. His mom had caught him once, the night before a big test, sobbing silently against his pillow because he thought that no amount of preparation would help him; he remembers telling his mother that he was going to fail and when she asked him why he was unable to answer. Even if that had baffled him, he never gave up that way of thinking, and now it haunts him every night.

He sits up, gathering his thoughts and breathing deeply. He leaves the phone on the sand, getting up and taking his shoes and socks off. He walks towards the rocking water, which reminds him of the waves that crash against the sand at the beach he used to frequent back in the city. The waves in the lake are made by the boats that come and go far away from the shore. He dips his feet in the water and walks until the water reaches his knees. It is a good thing that he only wears shorts regardless of the weather. The cold water makes the hairs on his legs prick, the coldness numbing the fingers on his feet. He feels reenergized, the cold spreading through his body; to a certain degree, it makes him feel alive, grounding him right then and there. He takes another deep breath and closes his eyes, facing the sky. The breeze ruffles his hair, which he hadn't had the time to comb before bursting out of the house; he probably still has bed hair, which in hindsight, might not be the most way to present himself. He breathes, his eyes tightly shut, his hands turning into fists next to his body.

Regardless of the amount of time he has spent on therapy, the amount of money he pays on pills that are supposed to make him feel better, the amount of effort he does to not feel this way, he is stuck with this, whatever it is that he has because he has never been able to admit it to himself. He knows that he should be comfortable with who he is, with his wired brain, but all he can think about is how weird it is. He wishes to be normal, but then again normal is not in the McClain dictionary. He smiles a little, remembering how loud and full of life his family is. How selfless and ready to help his mother is, how smart and kind Ronnie is, how Marco and Luis could teach you anything from high-level academic courses to how to best prank your siblings; hell, he can even admit that Rachel does throw the best parties. Lance would give everything for them, no matter how wired his brain is, or how bad he feels about himself. And it dawns on him that, although he is really tired, he doesn't want to give up. That, although he feels like shit, he wants to move forward to feel better again.

Tears roll down his cheeks again, but this time he feels at peace. The pressure on his chest is still there, but he can finally breathe without restriction, the wind seeping through his sweater and bringing a sense of calmness. His feet are too cold and are starting to hurt, but he stays put, letting the tears roll down his face even with his eyes closed. He takes in the cold breeze through his nostrils, reveling in the grounding feeling that makes him feel alive.

He doesn't know how long he stands there until he hears splashing behind him, bringing him back from his ordeal. Someone promptly grabs him by his shoulders and turns him abruptly, almost making him fall in the process. Lance wears a frown in his face, ready to throw punches if he has to, but it changes to pure shock as he finds Keith gripping his shoulders tightly, his fingers digging into the skin of his shoulder. Lance's eyes widen, confused; is this a dream? He has probably gone insane and now he is seeing Keith, great. He doesn't expect Keith enraged expression on his face though, his mauve eyes clouded in the frown he wears, his brows almost becoming one from the scowl, his lips in a thin line.

"What's wrong with you?" Keith hisses, shaking Lance painfully with no regard to where they are standing. Lance's legs feel numb, which means he has been in the water for a long time, but he pays no attention as he looks at Keith in bewilderment. Keith doesn't wait for an answer though, being as impatient as ever. "Your neighbors called your mother because they thought you were getting killed. Fucking killed, Lance. What is wrong with you?" Keith repeats, looking at him directly into his eyes. Lance can see the thin layer that waters his eyes, his voice wavering when he continues. "Your mom is worried about you because you are not answering your phone and everyone is looking for you, you asshole! What makes you think that it's okay to just scream like being murdered and run away? Huh? Even Pidge canceled their meetings to look for you. And why aren't you answering your phone? Are you fuckin crazy? God, if I weren't so pissed I would definitely kill you, but you're just-" he stammers, his breathing becoming uneven, taking more and more deep breaths.

Lance had only seen him like this a few times during high school and they all happened due to stressful situations that made Keith so anxious that he would bite his nails until they bled or scratch his arm until he left marks on his skin. After the accident, he would go as far as to scratch his scar, sometimes pricking blood from his chin. Now that Lance focuses on his face, he can see the puffy redness on his eyes and his nose, the bobbing of his Adam's apple when he gulps and looks at Lance's face, expecting an answer.

"I thought you were dead," Keith says then, only a whisper above the wind.

"Sometimes I wish I were," Lance says abruptly, the tears never stopping to flow from his eyes. Keith sheds a few of his own but runs his thumb over Lance's cheek, making his best attempt to stop them from falling.

"Well, I won't let that happen," Keith answers with confidence, raising his eyebrows and sniffling a little bit, cupping Lance's face in his hands. Lance grabs his arms and he finally crumbles, sobbing uglily but never leaving Keith's eyes. They ground him, bringing him to reality, making him see what his actions produce. He probably needs to call his mother to let her know that he is fine.

"I am so tired, Keith," he says truthfully between sobs. "I am just so tired."

Keith pulls him into a hug, tightening his hold on him; Lance buries his face on Keith's neck, trying to breathe through his uncontrollable sobs. Keith runs his hand up and down Lance's spine soothingly, his chin present in Lance's shoulder. Lance doesn't know how long it takes, but when he is out of tears to shed, out of sobs to give, out of feelings, he takes a deep breath. Keith guides him out of the water, helping Lance as he leans against him. Maybe staying for a long time in freezing cold water was not a good idea. He sits on the floor, devoid of emotion, but finally feeling free. Aside from his visits to his therapist, he has never felt so free with someone else next to him. He watches as Keith makes a few calls, probably letting the others know that Lance was fine and that they could go on with their lives. Lance sighs and he can't help but feel like a burden; he made everyone worry about him for nothing. He feels the pressure on his chest build up again, but it is interrupted by Keith's hand extended in front of him, a safe line, and when Lance takes it, he can finally breathe again.

Keith doesn't tell him anything, doesn't talk when they both walk all the way to his motorcycle. Now that Lance notices, Keith's hair sticks absurdly to the sides, a ransacked mess that could have only been done by him not wearing his helmet when he drove his motorcycle. It pained him to know that Keith had gone to this length just to make sure he was alright, but he couldn't help but feel flattered at the same time. Knowing that Keith was worried enough to leave everything just to find Lance sparks something within him that he has been cautious not to name ever since he came back. One thing is to pretend that everything is peachy and enjoy while it lasts and another thing is to fully accept these feelings and go through the ordeal of taking action on them; Lance is not really sure if he is emotionally able for that. He knows what he wished for and what he wants, but he doesn’t know if that’s what he really needs. All he can do is let his heart flutter when Keith ties his hair up in a ponytail, his eyes serious and glistening in the noon light, a blush spreading across Lance’s face when Keith hands him the other helmet and their fingers brush. He is probably overly sensitive from his raw feelings liberation, but he knows that at some point he will have to deal with them.

Lance doesn’t know if it’s intentional, but Keith takes the longest routes around town, sometimes riding in circles through the different streets that permeate their hometown. He feels grateful because the breeze in his skin and the blurry images of the scenery calms him and reminds him of the time where he was so stressed with finals or assignments, he would ask Keith to ride his father’s motorcycle. Keith would agree immediately because he loved riding it, but Lance has come to understand that it was also to help him in a sort of way that only Keith could. Lance has always been a sharer, expressing his feelings and letting them out in the open; Keith on the other hand was more reserved, but never devoid of emotion. His actions speak louder than words, something that took some time for Lance to understand.

They end up in Keith's apartment, Kosmo greeting them at the door, his tail wagging violently at the sight of Lance; he caresses the dog's soft head, crouching in front of him with a small smile on his face. Keith walks straight into his room and Lance can hear the rustle of Keith's clothes coming off, drawers opening and closing. Lance decides to sit on the floor and Kosmo takes this as a cue to lay on his back; Lance chuckles lightly and rubs his displayed tummy, earning a happy panting from the dog, his tongue rolling out of his mouth and looking at Lance expectantly for more rubs. Keith doesn't take long to leave his room, a pair of pajama pants, and some socks on his hand. Lance looks at him curiously but yawns, rubbing his eyes. Crying always leaves him tired and his eyes itchy. Keith silently leaves the pants and socks next to Lance and whistles for Kosmo to follow him.

"There is a bathroom to your right in the hall," Keith says quietly, taking out his laptop and starting it up as he goes and opens the big window of the small living room.

Lance takes his shoes off and leaves them aside in Keith's small clutter of shoes near the entrance and he walks to the bathroom, closing the door shut. He takes his time to fish his phone out to turn it back on, almost letting it fall when all the calls and messages start appearing on his screen. He doesn't go through them but shoots a quick text to his family group chat letting them know that he was in Keith's apartment and that he was fine. He also let Hunk, Pidge, and Allura know that he was fine and safe and turned off the notifications. It would be emotionally draining to go through each and every one of the messages, and he is already tired, so he decides to just let it go and change into the pants and putting the socks that Keith gave him. He catches himself in the mirror for a second, the red puff below his eyes, the blood-shot eyes, his flushed nose, and his pouty, pink lips. He tries to arrange his hair, but it is a useless effort, the mess sticking to the sides violently. He smiles a little bit when he remembers that it looks just like Keith's. His smile widens because he realizes that he likes watching himself smile. It almost erases the fact that he had a breakdown and made everyone worry about him.

He gets out of the bathroom and sees that Keith has laid himself on the wall where the big window remains open, the fall breeze rustling the papers that he has displayed on the floor. Lance realizes that he has changed as well and has put on his glasses, his hair tied messily in a ponytail at the back of his neck. It had been a while since Lance saw him with glasses, but they still rame his mauve eyes and sit peacefully over his button nose. Kosmo lays next to him, his head resting in one of Keith's thighs, but spikes his head up when he sees Lance. Keith also turns around and looks at him, worry evident in his face, but there is also a sense of determination in his eyes that Lance can't particularly decipher. Keith pats the space next to him and goes back to typing and staring at the screen on his laptop. Lance walks timidly and sits next to him, bringing his knees to his chest and resting his head on them, closing his eyes. He fidgets with his hands, the sound of his breathing suddenly too loud in his own ears. Keith is probably annoyed by it, right?

"What are you doing?" Lance blurts out because he hates silence and he hates that he embarrassed himself in front of Keith.

"I have to prepare a presentation about sustainability for the kids at the preschool," Keith answers truthfully. Lance's eyes snap open.

"You teach kids about sustainability?"

"Well," Keith frowns, tilting his head in thought, "in the best way we can; it's never too soon to teach kids to do good things."

"When did you become such a dream guy?" Lance mutters, frowning and pouting. "Everyone would be at your feet if you lived in the city."

"Sounds gross," Keith deadpans, which makes Lance laugh softly. Keith turns to see Lance with a smile on his own face and they stare at each other for a few minutes until Keith discards his laptop next to Kosmo, bringing his knees to his chest just as Lance is. "Is that why you came back? Because the people in the city are gross?"

Lance takes a deep breath, exhaustion looming over him and pulling his eyelids down; he doesn't really want to talk about it, but he feels the need to let it out, to confess to someones else besides his therapist how he feels without regrets. He opens his eyes and stares directly into Keith's eyes.

"It's not gross. It is beautiful, so beautiful that it churns your stomach and makes you sick to the head because everything feels and is so unachievable. And I tried so, so hard to get there, to be part of that beauty, but it just devoured me completely."

Keith's eyes don't waver, the determination right there, his gaze steeled on Lance's eyes.

"And I guess I didn't only lose my confidence or my life basically because my editor is literally the worst, but also myself. I was being this person that I didn't recognize, letting everyone stomp me or use me and I just couldn't take it anymore." He closes his eyes and presses them tightly. "And I wanted it all to end."

He remembers the breeze of the sea, the prickly feel of the sand on his feet, the incessant waving of the tides against his feet, kissing his ankles every time it crashed against the sand. He remembers the number of blades, the endless nights of tossing around the bed next to Nyma because all he could think about was bad things, the pills that ultimately signified the end for him, or at least they should have if he hadn't chickened out (which he is glad that he did).

"It wasn't until I saw a psychiatrist that I understood why I felt that way, you know? And sometimes, just like this time, I feel stupid for feeling this way because even if I take the pills that they give me or if I follow the advice that they give me I still feel bad and it fucking sucks. Like, how can a grown-ass man cry about everything, Keith? How can I still feel the same when I have my family, my friends, my dream job, you? It makes no sense."

He catches his breath and they remain in silence. The pressure in Lance's chest comes back; did he say too much? Was Keith afraid of him? Had he made a fool of himself?

"Does it need to make sense?"

This stuns Lance not because it is blunt, but because it is not the first time he hears it. His therapists asked him something similar once and, although it hadn't erased all of his doubts and worries, it had put things into perspective, It had taught Lance that sometimes things don't need to make sense for them to be, the not everything needed an explanation, but a form of release, to just let it happen so that he could feel better.

"I mean," Keith backtracks, flailing his hands up and down with a frown on his face as he stares at the floor. "I understand that it feels good to have an explanation for everything, but sometimes things are the way they are and there is nothing we can do about it." He looks at Lance, expression sincere and truthful, almost hurt. "I am sorry that you have been feeling like this Lance. If I could have-"

"Please don't apologize," Lance chuckles dryly, running a hand over his face; "it will just make me feel worse."

"Oh, uh..." Keith contemplates for a moment and then hits Lance's arm.

"Ouch! Why would you do that for?!"

"You said I couldn't apologize, so then I will scold you. Next time you even think about bad things like running away or..." he gulps, "or hurting yourself you call me, okay? There are no excuses."

Lance smiles at the poor attempt of consolation, but his heart feels full, grateful that Keith supports him regardless of anything.

"Will you ride thousands of miles to the city just to see me?"

Keith sighs.

"Do you have to go?" He says quietly. Lance takes a deep breath and lays his head on Keith's shoulder.

"I don't want to."

"Then don't."

Lance waits for him to say those words he has been expecting to hear even before he left to the city, those words that if uttered would have shaken his entire existence; but Keith remains silent and Lance is taken back to reality. Even if Keith had asked him to stay, he would have still left because that was his path. Maybe if he asks now he would think about it twice before going back.

"It's not that easy."

"How can it not be easy, Lance? You just don't go back and that's it!" Keith says, exasperated. "You can stop living in that vicious cycle and you know that you will be loved here," he says, flailing his hands around again, "you know that whatever you want to do or be, you can do that here. Why would you want to go back to what is killing you?" He huffs.

"Because it is what I worked my ass off for," Lance answers, getting irritated. He doesn't expect Keith to understand it, but it still hurts him. "What? Am I supposed to just leave everything behind and live here? And do what exactly? It's not as I have many opportunities here. Not all of us can settle, Keith."

"What are you trying to say?" Keith growls, shaking Lance off and looking at him with a scowl. "It is exactly those opportunities that screwed you over Lance, you can definitely leave them and live here. You can make your own opportunities here and-"

"No, Keith!" Lance snaps, getting away from Keith; Kosmo's ears perk up when they both raise their voices. "I worked hard for it and there is no way I can quit. I literally have a contract with an editor and I can't just say 'hey, I won't finish this, sorry!' Because that's not how the real world works! In the real world, you study and work hard to reach your goals, but of course, you wouldn't know about that Keith, after all, you dropped out of college!"

Tears sting his eyes again, but what hurts more is that he can no longer take back his words. Keith never told him directly that he had dropped out of college, he had heard it from his mother, but the realization in Keith's eyes completely ripping his hurt apart. He watches as Keith's expression changes, first hurt and then angry; it never took long for him to get riled up after all.

"What the fuck Lance?" He spits, standing up suddenly, fists tight against his sides. "I'm trying to help you out and all you do is throw this shit at me?"

Lance stands up as well, frowning too.

"You don't understand Keith, you will never understand. There is no way you can help me."

"That's because you don't want me to help you, I-"

"Why can't you just leave me alone?"

"Oh, fuck off Lance."

"Fuck you, Keith!"

Keith grips his hair and growls in frustration, breathing heavily. Lance can feel the pressure building in his chest once again, this time relentless, taking over him like a storm.

"Why don't you just leave?" Keith says, defeated, looking at the floor, his voice wavering. "You seem to be good at that."

It pierces Lance like an arrow and it burns like nothing he had ever felt. He knows he brought this on himself. He knows that he shouldn't have snapped at Keith. He knows that this is his last life-line and he is wasting it away because of his stubbornness. He knows that this time he is leaving by choice when he could stay, he knows that this is the worst decision he can take, but he can't breathe; he can't help but feel the helplessness, he can't help but feel like a burden, and maybe Keith is right. Maybe he is good at leaving. Maybe he was never destined to come back. Maybe he should have stayed in the city and finished what he started.

When he slams the door behind him, his shoes dangling on his hand, he feels empty, his heart hurting, the tears flowing incessantly, drying him to the core and all he can think about is,  
 _Where do I go from here?_


	7. Change of Habits

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING: racial slur
> 
> I was very adamant on how to go about this chapter, but I decided that Lance has suffered too much hahahahahaha Plus my bb deserves to be happy (:
> 
> I hope you guys enjoy this chapter and wait for the next one! Thank you for the love you have given to this almost garbage and if you have any feedback or would just like to leave kudos, go ahead!

Laying down on his bed, Lance can't help but shake his foot while Pidge has their arms wrapped around his middle and their face plastered in his back and Hunk's protective grip on his shoulders, his head atop Lance's hair. Even after all these years, cuddling with his best friends was still the best thing he could ask for, and more when he was feeling as bad as he did. He told them everything as soon as he walked out of Keith's door, tears swelling his eyes, but willing them to stop. Lance was emotionally drained, and he wanted to apologize, he truly did, but he was tired. He asked Hunk to pick him up that day and he went straight to his bakery, his mom hovering around him and lecturing him in front of all the customers. Overall, it was not a good day, but he was grateful that the people he loved cared about him.

Now, a week later, Pidge and Hunk were hanging out with him, presumably to watch movies, but Lance knew better. They had been coming more to his house lately and calling him during the day to just check upon him. It was annoying, but it also made Lance feel better. He likes the attention, but most of all, he likes that they are there for him. His foot keeps shaking, moving the bed swiftly. He takes a deep breath and sits up, untangling himself from all the limbs that bind him to the bed. Hunk and Pidge share a look before they sit up as well.

"Hey, buddy, you alright?" Hunk asks.

"You will keep feeling this way if you don't apologize, Lance," says Pidge, adjusting their glasses.

"I know," Lance answers truthfully, groaning and burying his face in his hands. "But how? I screw every opportunity he gave me, it's not like I can just knock on the door, say sorry and mend things!"

"You never know until you try!" Hunk says cheerfully, smiling fondly at Lance.

"Or, you could admit to your mistakes and start from there," Pidge says matter-of-factly. Lance groans again.

"It's not that easy," he says finally, looking at his hands. "It feels like every good thing I get I end up fucking it up."

Hunk hums anxiously, looking at Pidge for help. They sigh.

"Remember that time that you fought a kid that got my pronouns wrong in high school and I got mad at you?"

Lance looks at them, a confused frown on his face.

"What does that have to do with anything?"

"Well, the situation is the same," Hunk says, looking pensive.

"Yeah," Pidge agrees. "You did the right thing, Lance, but I also wanted to stand up for myself. I said terrible things to you and we didn't speak to each other for almost a week."

"Yeah, I remember that I still left your lunch on your desk, although I had to be there like, five minutes earlier just to not see you," Lance says, a hint of a smile on his face as he rubs his neck.

"God, you both were so ridiculous!" Hunk says, laughing softly.

"Yeah! And then I told you that I wanted to defend myself and that next time if things weren't going well then you could intervene. You had your reasons to get mad at Keith and he had his reasons to get mad at you. Now stop sulking and makeup already!"

"Well, it's not that easy! Even if we makeup, I'm still leaving," Lance huffs, his eyebrows knit together and a pout. He wishes life could be simple. He wishes he could simply just switch realities with someone else, or just erase the fact that he went to the city at all.

"Or you could start again," Hunk suggests after a moment of silence, a hand on his chin.

"Yeah, you make of your life what you want, Lance. You can't just let other people walk over you just like that!" Pidge exclaims.

Oh, how he wishes he could just call his editor and quit, he wishes Nyma would stop messing with his head, he wishes it could be as simple as...

He stands up suddenly, a determined face and he turns to his friends. He smiles sympathetically at them, the plan brewing on his mind already sailing, taking his phone from the nightstand next to his bed. He takes a deep breath and looks to the floor. Pidge and Hunk don't dare move as to not make any sound while Lance closes his eyes, weighing the pros and the cons when his phone chimes with a text message. It is from Keith and although he doesn't read the preview, he takes it as a sign. He looks back at his friends and nods.

"I'm gonna do it."

"Uh... Do what, buddy?" Asks Hunk, worried. Pidge raises an eyebrow, adjusting their glasses.

"I'm gonna make my life what I want from it," Lance smiles, turning the phone and searching in his contacts. He takes a deep breath.

"Do you think this is good?" Pidge whispers to Hunk.

"I don't know, but I don't want to stop him," Hunk answers truthfully, crossing his arms above his chest, an expectant frown on his face. They both look at Lance while he dials and places the phone on his ear. It lasts a few seconds before Lance is speaking.

"Hey, Esther?" He starts, taking a deep breath. "Fuck you." Hunk chokes on his own spit, and Pidge scoffs, impressed, a smile on their face as he pats Hunk's back, their eyes never leaving Lance. "I won't work for you anymore," he continues. "Expect the money from the last few chapters in your account, I don't want to have anything to do with you." He then hangs up, a dazed expression on his face as if he could not believe what he had done. Probably because he can't.

"Did you... did you just hang up on your editor?" Hunk asks incredulously after a few minutes of silence.

"And quit your job?" Pidge adds.

"Uh..." Lance looks at them, the beginning of a smile starting to form on his face. "It was her voice mail, but yeah, I just did that."

If Lance could describe how hilarious and ridiculous Pidge and Hunk's expressions were he would probably not do it justice. Pidge's eyebrows almost reach their scalp, their glasses falling down and settling in the bridge of their nose. Hunk's dropped jaw makes him look comical, almost cartoonish, but he can't help it, it is the first time Lance had acted impulsively and he was proud (and frankly scared) of his best friend.

Lance shakes his head, a laugh bubbling out from his chest, staring at the phone.

"Alright, I am officially unemployed," he states, grinning like a maniac. Pidge nods enthusiastically while Hunk smiles and hugs his friend.

"Congratulations, buddy!" He says, engulfing Lance in a crushing embrace. Lance laughs and hugs him back. He feels Pidge's tiny arms wrap on his middle, their face pressed on his back. Under other circumstances, this would have been weird, but he was never keen on normal or ordinary circumstances. He was Lance McClain, author of the most coveted books, currently unemployed.

Hunk releases him and they are all left speechless. It is not every day that your best friend decides to spin their life around and quit his dream job. An idea comes to mind and Lance signals for his friends to follow him. They go down the stairs, the bustling of pots and pans in the kitchen and he walks straight inside, finding his mother washing the dishes while something in a big stove boils. The day is chilly, so she is probably preparing soup for when Rachel and Veronica come home.

"Ma?" He calls from the entrance of the kitchen, Pidge, and Hunk behind him.

"Si, _mijo_?" She answers, her eyes never leaving the task at hand.

"Is it okay if I live here for the next three months? After that I will get an apartment, I swear," he says, rubbing his hands against each other, his heartbeat working a million times faster. His mother stops for a second and frowns, but then she continues as usual.

"This is your home, you are supposed to live in it, _mijo_. Stay as long as you need," she answers plainly and then dries her hands to chop some more vegetables on the counter. He smiles, sighing in relief, and turns to his friends.

"Hunk, can I please work at your bakery? It doesn't matter what I do, I can even clean the bathroom _twice_ , just please pay me minimum wage," Lance asks, putting his puppy eyes and pouting his lip. His mother snorts behind him, but he pays no mind to it. Pidge rolls their eyes and Hunk beams with excitement.

"Of course, man! And you know that I would never leave my best friend to clean the bathroom _twice_ alone," he says with a big smile. Lance chuckles and looks at Pidge.

"Can I be your errand boy?" He asks. Pidge crosses their arms above their chest and frowns.

"Why would you want to be my errand boy? Hunk already gave you a job," they say, pointing at Hunk. "I don't want you to overwork yourself."

"I want to learn how to run a business and you are the manager of the tech company in town. There is no one else I can learn from that is not you," he explains, hopeful. Pidge mulls it over, adjusting their glasses as they look at him quizzically. Then Pidge nods and smiles at him.

"Sure, why not?"

He smiles widely, taking his friends back to his room. He feels so light, so free, almost as if he is breathing for the first time in years. It may not be the best plan, but if he works it over, he will be able to finally put his ideas to work. He might have never told anyone this besides his mother, but since high school, he wanted to create the first town newspaper. He remembers his high school counselor telling him that it was a shame that the closest internship in his field was three towns over. He always had the idea running around in his mind, but he never thought he would act on it. Now, it seems like a new possibility to start anew, to give the kids in his town a chance of better opportunities, and to finally achieve a dream that he thought was long gone.

"So, uh..." He starts, looking at his phone. He knows what the next step is, but he really doesn't know if he can do it on his own, so he opens his messages, one in particular that he has been putting off for weeks and passes the phone to Hunk. "I don't really want to read what she has to say, so can you like, sum it up?"

Hunk frowns and looks at the phone with concentration while Pidge looks over his shoulder to catch whatever Nyma had been sending him. The silence that follows worries Lance and the increasing frown and face of disgust from both Pidge and Hunk doesn't make it any better.

"She says a lot of... rude and awful stuff, I hate her," Hunk says, shaking his head.

" _Can you stop being a drama queen and come back?_ Who does she think she is?!" Pidge exclaims, taking the phone from Hunk's hands and scrolling down. Lance buries his face in his hands, taking a deep breath. he knows she is rude and awful first hand. That does not mean she isn't completely manipulative. "She sounds like a psycho, I am sorry Lance, but your taste has dropped comple- OH HELL NO!"

Lance's head snaps up, looking at Pidge's scowl, their nose scrunched up and their eyes screaming murder. Hunk looks at the phone and his eyebrows raise so high that Lance gets concerned. Hunk opens and closes his mouth, probably trying to say something positive, but it seems beyond saving.

"Oh boy, this is so horrible," he mutters.

"What? What does it say?" Lance asks, curiosity prickling on his skin.

"She said _when are you gonna stop blaming me?_ " Pidge reads, taking an exasperated breath. "She says some more dumb stuff and then, _We both know that I make your life better. Come back now. Being a beaner does not suit you._ "

"That is racist," Hunk comments after a long silence.

"It is," Lance says, raising his eyebrows. He definitely should have known since the beginning what kind of person Nyma was. He should have known how bad she would hurt him, he should have known that they were never meant to be, he should have...

"Expose her," Pidge says, taking a screenshot of the conversation. "You have a big fanbase, she is done."

"I would be against it," Hunk says, but he shakes his head, "but she has gone too far. I agree with Pidge."

They both look at Lance expectantly. He doesn't know what to do. For a period of his life, she was all he knew. She had also brought so many amazing opportunities to him. He knows that her behavior deserves to be exposed, not just her racist comment, but he also knows how relentless the internet and fame could be. He takes a deep breath.

"Can you help me do that?" He asks, insecure, afraid. Luckily, he is not alone anymore.

They spend most of the day composing a Twitter thread explaining Lance's disappearances, his past struggles, and his current struggles. He mentioned how he was mistreated by his editor, how Nyma was toxic, and the actual inspiration for his last book, his thought process for his last book, and his current aspirations. He thanked his followers as well and asked them to continue supporting him in his future endeavors. By the end of it, he had a couple of retweets and some likes as well, but most importantly, he was free. He has finally expressed out loud how he has been feeling lately, and although it may not be the best solution, he now feels like he can see a future again.

Pidge and Hunk leave after lunch, after all, it is a Saturday. His mother makes him do the dishes, to which he complains and throws a fit, but gets Rachel to help him do it together. He has missed the time he spent with his twin sister. After lunch, he takes a well-deserved nap, something he hadn't done for years due to his insomnia. When he wakes up, his Twitter feed has exploded, but he decides to not open the app; he already exhausted his mental reserve, he is in no condition to go through something like that. When his phone rings, however, and he sees Allura's ID, he answers hurriedly, confused as to why she is calling him.

"Allura? Hi, what's up?" He says, his voice hoarse from the nap.

" _Lance!_ " She exclaims in her accent. " _I've been trying to reach you, but your phone was off._ "

"Yeah," Lance answers sheepishly, running a hand through his neck and laughing nervously. "I kinda took a nap."

" _Oh, I see,_ " she says, amused behind the phone. " _I just saw your twit. I am so sorry Lance, I never knew any of this!_ "

"Yeah, well, it's not really your fault," he says, smiling softly.

" _To think we dated and I was never able to decipher you, Lance McClain._ "

This makes Lance chuckle.

"I didn't want you to think your boyfriend was a wimpy dumbass, princess. I had to be the cool guy, remember?"

Allura laughs.

" _You were always cool, Lance. You just didn't believe it._ " He laughs too and they stay silent for a moment. He hears her sigh on the other side of the phone. " _Promise me that next time you will call me or talk to me, okay? And we have to seriously talk about your taste in women because I can't believe that you went from me to that nasty-_ "

"Yeah, welcome to the club," he cuts her off, laughing loudly. "Hunk is gonna lecture me next time because he was going easy on me today. But thank you Allura, I really appreciate it."

" _My pleasure, babe. I have to go now, but we have to see each other, okay?_ "

"Yes," he smiles. "Bye 'Lura."

She hangs up and he lays with his back on the mattress. He feels like he could fall asleep, but the buzzing in his chest and the adrenaline still on his veins doesn't let him, feeling the giddiness and anxiety all at the same time. This is the first time he has acted so recklessly in his life and he wishes he had done this before; it is so exhilarating, the intensity and the high rush that comes from changing your life almost addicting. Now he understands why was so impulsive and reckless in high school. Lance sighs and closes his eyes. Even if this is a great feeling, he knows that things will be hard from here. It is not every day when you willingly quit your job and turn your life around completely. He smiles. Even if things are hard, this time he will do things on his own accord and he won't let anyone else tell him how to live his life. It is the most exciting thing about everything, but it also worries him deeply. He doesn't know how things will end up, what his future holds. But he has a blank slate. He is now able to do whatever he wants, start again, and shoot for the stars. He gets up and walks to his closet.

After all, he was invited to have dinner with Shiro and Adam.

He takes more time than he thought, lasting hours in his shower, asking Rachel for advice on his outfit and wrestling Marco for the keys to the truck. He knows that it is because of Shiro's relationship with Keith. Even before high school, Keith was selective with who he relied on and he only trusted a few people with his secrets. It took Lance almost two years to gain his trust even if everyone else warmed up and opened up to his within months. Maybe that is one of the reasons why Keith has always been so intriguing to Lance. Every day was a mystery, a moment to prove himself, to unravel the secrets that those stars for eyes hold. Even after all these years, Lance knows that he will never be on Shiro's position as Keith's go-to or Keith's most trustworthy person, he had accepted that a long time ago. What bothers him now is that Shiro most likely knows about their fight and although he has it coming, Lance really doesn't want another lecture. He had his friends and his mom for that and it was already a nightmare because after all, he is the one to blame. And as adamant that he is for apologizing, sooner or later he will have to do it. Although later sounds more tempting, honestly.

So now, standing right in front of Shiro and Adam's door, standing awkwardly in their neatly trimmed front lawn, his hand held up high to knock, a bottle of wine of his other hand, he can't help but worry. His short-lived happiness settles in the pit of his stomach because all he can think about is apologizing to Keith. He takes a deep breath and knocks, bracing himself for Shiro's disappointed scowl or Adam's silent judgment. However, when the door swings open, he is engulfed in a tight embrace. Lance huffs against Shiro's chest, his hands raised awkwardly at his sides. He takes a moment to process and when he sees Adam with a small smile on his face behind Shiro, Lance breathes again, embracing Shiro back.

"Lance!" Shiro says, his head resting atop of Lance's head. "I am so glad you could join us!"

"Wouldn't have missed it for anything," Lance answers, crushed under Shiro's arms, tapping his bicep to subtly tell him to let him go.

"Come on Shiro, let the kid go, please, you are killing him," Adam says from behind, rolling his eyes; he has a smile on his face though.

"Sorry, sorry," Shiro says, taking his arms off Lance and looking like a defeated puppy.

Lance smiles at him and gives him the bottle of wine. Adam's eyes sparkle and he invites Lance in. Maybe his worries were for nothing. He has known Shiro and Adam ever since he met Keith and they have always treated him well (besides all those times he was scolded along with Keith because you can't keep skipping class just to go to the lake, education is important kids).

And even after all those years, he has never stepped a foot in their house. He knows they got married during his last year of university and he couldn't attend the wedding and Hunk had told him that they had bought a house instead of having a honeymoon. Lance never let Shiro live that down, but he has always known that Shiro and Adam were the kinds of people to just settle down immediately after spending so many years together, after so many ups and down with Shiro having to raise Keith after his father's death or Adam's illness taking a turn for the worst. He has never told anyone, but Lance has always been jealous of them, of how they were able to come out closer than ever against any adversity that life threw at them. It makes Lance wonder if he will ever find someone like that, if he will ever be loved by someone so deeply that his flaws won't matter, if he will ever be good enough for someone like that.

Their house is everything Lance expected it to be, small, but still colorful and cheerful, just like its owners. The small hallway from the entrance leads to an open space where the dinner table resides, the kitchen on the right side. They sit down and talk pleasant nonsense. It helps with Lance's anxiety, knowing that he can still hold a normal conversation after breaking down continuously last week, but what he revels in the most is the familiarity with the situation. All that is missing is Keith's presence at the other side of the table, just like old times, but Lance doesn't dare to ask, doesn't dare utter his name in fear that he would break the invisible conformity that they have going. However, life isn't fair, and Shiro clears his throat, glancing at Adam through the corner of his eyes before saying,

"I don't mean to pry," he starts, looking down to his pasta, avoiding Lance's gaze, "but we saw your tweets and well, I..."

"We wanted to know if you are fine," Adam finishes, a smile on his face as he takes Shiro's hand for reassurance. Lance takes a deep breath. It is inevitable, after all.

"Yeah, I uh, I decided it was time, to tell the truth," he answers simply, smiling faintly at them. "I'm fine, although I can see why you are worried."

"Do you know what you want to do?"

Lance doesn't answer right away, taking another bite from his pasta. He can't say he has a plan, per se, but he still has an idea of what could be his next step.

"I want to open a newspaper company for the town. I remember my counselor talking about it once, in high school. I don't know if it's the right path, but I think I have to start somewhere, right?" He confesses, running a hand through his hair with a sheepish smile.

"That's wonderful!" Shiro says with a wide smile on his face and Adam nods.

"Thanks," Lance answers.

After finishing their dinner, Shiro takes their plates to the kitchen and Adam takes the opportunity to sit in front of Lance.

"You know," he starts, his eyes warm as he looks directly at Lance. "Keith went through the same uncertainty that you are going through right now."

It shouldn't shock him as much as it does, but at the mention of Keith, a shiver runs down his spine, the sour feeling settling in the pit of his stomach. It is a reminder that he has to apologize to him.

"Really?" Lance asks in a small voice, not sure what else to say.

"Yes," Adams says with a warm smile on his face as if reminiscing that time brings him joy. "He was very lost when you left because most of the universities he applied for rejected him. That's why he went to the college next to our town? But we both know Keith is too hot-headed for college," he chuckles. Lance smiles, but it doesn't reach his eyes. He knows that college wasn't for Keith not because he was not smart, but because the way Keith does thing is not compatible.

"Well, in his defense, his professors were shit, so that's on them," Shiro says from behind Adam, sitting down next to him and wrapping his hand over the other man's. "Plus, I think he is doing so much better than he would have if he had actually finished college."

"It could be," Adam says thoughtfully, but waves his hand dismissively. "What I'm trying to get at is that acter those two years, he was clueless as to what he should be doing. And well, with my health and the lease of our apartment..." he trails off, sighing.

"Your mother was kind enough to let him stay at your house, you know?" Shiro continues with a small smile. "And I think it was for the best, she was really handling it all by herself and I think Keith found some solace in helping her out."

It's foreign, the thought of Keith helping his mother around the house the same way he used to when he was a child. He also knows that it must have been hard on Keith particularly, growing up without a mom or anyone to soothe him when he was feeling sad or help him out when he needed advice or to be there in their school festivals. Shiro tried his best, but he was also young and unwise as to how he could raise a teenager. Lance also knows that Keith avoided going to his house because he hated seeing how much love they have for each other; Keith confessed to him once that it made him jealous that Lance could have a family that supported him and loved him while all he had was a cold, empty house to go back to, that his house felt too big just for Shiro and him. It shocks him that Keith was able to live around his family when he explicitly asked Lance not to take him to his house as kids because of how much it made him uncomfortable.

"He also learned good manners, can you believe that kid says thank you now?" Adam says, bringing Lance out of his thoughts. Shiro gives a wholehearted laugh.

"Mrs. McClain really turned him into a decent person," he chimes in. Lance laughs softly. His mother really turns people into decent persons with a good beating, that's what it is.

"But my point is," Adam says, looking at Lance directly, "that now that you are starting all over again, the best person you can talk to is Keith. He was very lost after dropping out of college, but your mom and Coran helped him find his path, and I think he can help you find yours."

Lance remains silent, worrying his lip between his teeth. It makes sense to go talk to Keith, but he can't help but feel like it is pointless. Lance ruined everything. There is no way he can go and talk to Keith or at least apologize without there being more fighting.

"What if I made him hate me?" He asks in a small voice, not looking at them in the eye, the pattern of the wood a hundred more times interesting than facing the probably disappointed look from Adam and Shiro.

"Lance," Shiro says softly, a semblance of a smile in his voice. "Do you really think Keith hates you? Did you think the same thing when you left? Because as far as I am concerned, you and Keith have been spending an awful lot of time together since you came back. People who hate you don't do that, Lance. And I think you know that, so be clear as to what you are really scared about. You both deserve to listen to what each of you has to say."

"Besides, it would be nice to have him stop sulking all the time," Adam chimes in, placing his chin on his hand and smiling mischievously. "Who can't stand him when he is all pouty and sad like that? You know what?"

Shiro sighs, rubbing his temples with his eyes closed, but there is still a smile plastered on his face.

"Can you take this to him?" Adam hands a plastic plate wrapped in aluminum foil to Lance, who looks at him with confusion. "We both know how much he likes chocolate, so please give it to him as soon as possible."

Lance looks at him with his eyes wide.

"Yes, Lance, you should better get going. You wouldn't want the chocolate to melt," Shiro says, nodding his head enthusiastically.

"Yeah, and then you will have a mess in your hands bigger than it should be," Adam says, nodding as well.

"You should hurry."

And it isn't until he is rushing through the stairs of the apartment complex, plate secured in his hands, after leaving Shiro's and Adam's house in a hurry that he understands the reference. He huffs heavily, taking the stairs as fast as he can as if his life depends on it. He reaches the third floor and turns right, panting heavily. He stops for a second, hesitant. All the doubts and worries he had before come back to him, the weight in his chest pressing against him. He closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, and shakes his head. He opens his eyes, determined, and knocks on the door with probably too much force, but it is now or never. It is the moment where he changes his habits for the best, the moment where he turns his life around, the moment where he chooses what happens from now on. He takes another deep breath, and this time, if the pressure on his chest is from excitement, from the swelling of his heart in expectation, in anxiousness from seeing Keith's stars for eyes, nobody has to know. 


	8. Please Stay. With Me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it's been a long time, but I finally have this chapter ready! I am sorry to have you all waiting, but college has been tedious!
> 
> Remember to stay safe and healthy!
> 
> Kudos or feedback are encouraged! Thank you for all the love you have given to this!

Lance is not prepared for the mess that Keith is when he opens the door, Kosmo behind him wagging his tail wildly, pushing Keith's leg to get to Lance. Keith has dark bags under his eyes, his glasses on the bridge of his nose, his hair sticking out in unnatural places and a disheveled look with his loose shirt and joggers with could probably be oil paint. He is holding a mug on his hand which definitely has coffee in it, as it brings a sense of calmness to Lance when the scent invades his nostrils. He could go for a coffee right now, definitely. Keith has his usual frown on his face, but his eyes are wide as if he can't believe that Lance is right in front of him. Lance opens his mouth, ready to apologize when the clanking of porcelain against the floor gets his attention.

"Fuck!" Keith curses, stepping back and almost stumbling against Kosmo. The dog whines, but Keith doesn't pay attention to him, crouching to hold his foot and trying to get the broken pieces of his cup.

Lance crouches too, placing the plate he was carrying on the floor and taking the pieces of porcelain in his hand and gently pushing Keith's hand away, fearing that he will hurt himself. Keith chooses not to say anything and instead, he gets up with the help of Kosmo, trying to reach the kitchen. When Lance is done with the biggest broken pieces, he walks to the kitchen as well, where Keith struggles to reach the first aid kit in the highest cabinet. Lance throws the porcelain away in a piece of newspaper and reaches for the kit, leaving it in the counter. Keith hands him a broom and a rag that he apparently got while Lance was taking the pieces of the cup. Lance takes them silently and proceeds to clean the spilled coffee and sweep the remaining broken pieces.

They work in silence, Lance cleaning the mess and making sure that it is safe to walk through the doorway while Keith struggles to stop the small cut he has on his foot from bleeding and staining more of his sock. When Lance finishes, he walks towards Keith, taking the towel covered in blood and dampens it in the kitchen sink. Keith is sitting in the counter, his arms crossed above his chest as he watches Lance clean his wound. He hisses softly when Lance applies a dab of alcohol and then wraps his foot in gauze. There is a small smile in Lance's face, reminded of the many times when Keith would get into fights and rush to Lance because he was scared of what Shiro would think. It is fair to say that Lance has tended to Keith's wounds before and he is familiar with dealing with his low cursing and yanking. When he finishes, he takes a deep breath.

"I thought you were Shiro," Keith says suddenly, almost a whisper. Lance looks at him, confused.

"Huh?"

"Adam said they were coming to bring me a chocolate cake from the dinner."

"Oh," Lance says, lighting up. At least he is not being kicked out... yet. "It's here," he says, taking the plate from the other side of the counter and handing it to Keith, who reluctantly takes it.

"Why are you here, Lance?" He says, again in that small voice.

Lance can tell how tired he is, and he suspects that it is not just his work. Keith works hard, but even he knows his limits, something that Lance has always admired from him. He can see it through the strain of his eyes, the fidgeting of his hands, his foot swinging softly on the counter. He avoids Lance's gaze like the plague, clenching his teeth. Lance knows well that he is barely holding it together, something very unfamiliar on Keith, but Lance understands why.

"I came to bring cake," Lance starts, leaning on the counter, his hand on his hip. "But also to apologize."

Keith doesn't say anything and stays uncharacteristically silent, so Lance takes this as a cue to continue.

"I shouldn't have said the things I said to you," he says, staring at the ground. "I also shouldn't have gotten pissed at you," he says with a frown of his own; "you were trying to help me and I was a jerk about it. And even if I have my reasons, they are not an excuse for my behavior, so I am sorry."

Lance looks up expectantly at Keith, who takes a deep breath and takes his glasses off, rubbing a hand through his face. He groans loudly to the point where it turns into a whine, thrashing softly like a child who has been denied of sweets. Lance looks at him in confusion.

"You shouldn't have apologized," he says, his hand lingering over his eyes.

"What?" Lance asks, shocked.

"It would make it so much easier for when you leave," Keith confesses, taking his hand off his face and looking directly into Lance's eyes. There is conflict in them, but what shocks Lance the most is the tinge of hurt that they display. "Hating you makes it easier when I lose you for a second time."

Lance stands there, the realization hitting him fast and hard. It makes sense that Keith is worried about him leaving; he can now finally understand the undertones of Keith’s voice, the real reason why he had snapped at him; it was not for being an asshole, but because he was afraid of losing him one more time. It all makes sense and Lance can’t feel any less of an idiot for it.

“Did you really hated me when I left the first time?”

Lance can’t help but ask. The last night they spent together still haunts him and he still wants answers. He was never able to have them because Keith stopped contacting him altogether when he left and Pidge made it specifically clear that they were not going to meddle in their business. After that, Lance had no way of checking up on Keith, and he was too proud to actually contact him first. He was also hurt, worrying if their relationship could be salvaged.

_Lance huffed, a smile on his face and his eyes closed, laying on top of Keith’s chest, reveling in the pounding beat of his heart, the boy panting with his hair stuck to his forehead. They basked in the afterglow of sex, the very first time they dared to go further after Lance insinuated it to Keith. After all, it was Lance’s last night before he went to make a life of his own in the city, his last night before leaving Keith to follow his dreams. He sighed deeply, taking in Keith’s scent as if to remember him forever, to always keep a part of him for himself. Lance peppered Keith with kisses, slow, gentle, covering all of his face and earning silent giggles from him. He kisses him softly on the lips, lasting longer than usual, kissing him over and over again to engrave the taste of him, the plump texture, the hotness that had always ignited so many memories that he would cherish forever. He pressed one last kiss in his lips before saying,_

_“I love you, Keith.”_

_He thought it was the best time to confess to him. Lance had been turning the idea around in his head for months now, wanting to make things official, to be able to hold Keith’s hand in the broad daylight, or to kiss him when he was feeling stressed or to make him laugh. But Keith has always made it clear that he didn’t want any of that. It gave Lance an internal struggle, but he respected Keith’s wishes and never uttered a word about it again. Until now. He knew he was leaving. He knew that this was possibly the last chance to let him know, that maybe it was too late. But Lance had to take the risk and see where it took him._

_He regretted that immediately._

_“Why would you say that?” Keith asked in a hushed voice, the frown back in his face._

_“Because it’s the truth,” Lance said, matter-of-factly, smiling down at him, trying to get a smile back. He earned a glare from Keith, pushing him off of him and sitting at the edge of his bed._

_“I wish I didn’t have to hear it,” he whispers, taking his boxers and putting them on._

_Sirens blared insides Lance’s head, sitting on the bed and looking at Keith, mortified._

_“Is it that bad that I actually said it out loud?” He asked, trying to get to sit next to Keith. He didn’t look at him. “I’m sorry to say this, buddy, but I haven’t exactly been subtle about it.”_

_“So what?” Keith said, putting his shirt on and getting up from the bed, turning and looking at Lance, his arms crossed above his chest. “It doesn’t matter anyway.”_

_“Why not?” Lance asked, getting more and more irritated by the second. He laid his heart for Keith and he gets mad? How dare he?_

_“Because I don’t love you, Lance.”_

_Everything around him stopped. His blood ran cold, the pressure on his chest increasing drastically to the point where he thought he couldn’t breathe. He looked at Keith with eyes wide, his heart beating fast and loud, his hands clutching the bed sheets until his knuckles whitened. And then the fury came. He was angry, hurt, and maybe he shouldn’t have said the things he had said, but he wanted Keith to hurt the same way he did. He wanted Keith to know the pain that he put him through after years of apparently fooling around, after years of pouring out his heart for him, after years of being there for all his breakdowns, his stumbles, his victories, after years of lending a shoulder to cry on, an ear to listen to his concerns; Lance wanted Keith to understand how badly and deeply his heart bled for him, that he wasn’t just a fuckbuddy or his personal therapist._

_After putting on his clothes and taking his phone, Lance turned and looked at Keith long and hard, engraving in his memories the boy that he had always loved, the boy that had broken his heart, the boy that looked at him on the verge of tears but refuses to relent. Lance can’t help but wonder how even after all the damage he had done to him, he still looked beautiful, brilliant under Lance’s eyes, perfect,_ right _._

_“This is why the people in your life leave you, Keith. You just make yourself hard to love.”_

Even now, Lance winces at the last words he said to Keith before leaving. He still remembers vividly the last moments they shared and he has turned this scenario around in his head over and over, thinking of different ways he could have tackled it, different solutions, different words; if he is honest, it is one of the memories that haunt him the most, the memory that he always uses as an example to his psychiatrist because what kind of person pushes away the people he loves?

“I hated myself more than anything,” Keith says, sighing and getting off the counter.

He walks to Lance, limping a bit due to his injury, and gets impossibly close to him. Lance can feel his heartbeat, erratic against his chest. He looks at him, indecision in his eyes, fear, but most importantly, exhaustion. Lance understands from just that look that Keith is emotionally exhausted, that he has been keeping this for too long, and he braces himself for the words he says next. 

“I did love you, Lance,” he says, staring into Lance’s eyes, his own swelling with tears. “I loved you so much and yet you left, and all I could think about is how every time I love someone hard, they leave. I didn’t mean to say those things to you,” his voice breaks, but he refuses to cry. Lance watches him as he takes a deep breath and closes his eyes. “I didn’t mean to hurt you that bad, but I was so tired,” he runs a hand through his hair. “I was just so tired of people leaving me that I gave myself an excuse to hate you, just so that it would be easier for when you left. And it’s just repeating itself all over again, but this time...” he trails off.

Lance looks at him expectantly, but Keith just shakes his head dismissively, walking to the couch where the TV is on. He sits in silence, not really paying attention to whatever is playing, instead pricking his nails, his lips sealed tight in a thin line and his jaw pressed shut. Lance goes and sits next to him, also remaining silent for a while. When he chances a glance at Keith, all he can think about is how beautiful, how completely undeterred he is; he can’t help but wonder how much he loves Keith to the point where, even in their toughest times, he still sees his beauty and is thankful to even be able to talk to him at all. A deep flush covers his cheeks and a pleasant flutter beats in his chest.

“I should have known,” he finally says, a whisper above the voices that come from the TV. “I’ve known you my whole life Keith, I don’t know why it never occurred to me that-”

“It’s not your fault,” Keith interjects.

“Either way. If I had known, or if you had told me then things would have been different.”

“It doesn’t matter anyway,” Keith says bitterly, bringing his knees to his chest. “It’s the past.”

“But you said it yourself, it’s the same all over again,” Lance turns to him, a frown on his face. “Can we just talk about it?”

Keith huffs.

“You really wanna talk about it?” He gets up suddenly, startling Lance. He crosses his arms above his chest, starting to pace around, blocking Lance from watching the TV, not that he minds. “Fine.”

Lance watches him come and go as he grows frustratingly more anxious. He is tapping his foot on his own, afraid, but willing to take in whatever Keith has to say. He braces himself for the worst, just in case.

“I feel...” Keith starts, but stutters, looking more and more nervous, maybe as the realization hits him that he really is doing this.

But Lance knows Keith and he knows that when something is already on the way, too late to backtrack, he goes for it through completion. He stops, thinks it over, and turns to Lance. It’s one of the few times he has seen him so earnest, so open, so... vulnerable. Any other time he would have relished in it, but this time, he knows he will have a fair share of his own vulnerability as well.

“I feel...” Keith starts again, sighing; “well, it feels like you’re leaving me again because you are,” he says, matter-of-factly. Lance opens his mouth, but Keith holds a hand up, shushing him immediately. “I feel like you will leave me again, but this time I tried everything to keep you from leaving. I know I am not perfect, Lance, but I really tried. I really did. But then you snap at me when I try to help you?" Keith huffs. "I understand that what you are going through is not easy, but you can't just shut me down. I know that it seems like the easy way out, but it is not. And I know that it is selfish for me to ask you to stay but...” he stops pacing and looks at Lance, his eyes wide, his hands playing with the hem of his sweater. “Please stay. With me.”

Lance wants to cry. He understands Keith's outburst. It is almost hilarious, the irony of how their positions have changed. Lance used to be this for Keith; he used to be the one to try as much as he could to be pushed away. He was the one to listen to him whenever he needed to, he was the one who would snap back at Keith because he _was_ trying. He suddenly feels like a teenager again, listening to Keith's rant, or fighting like the kids they were because they can never seem to state their true feelings. There is a dumb smile on his lips and he just stares at Keith like the fool he is, earning a groan from Keith, but he can see the small smile in the corner of his lips. He takes a pillow from the couch and hits him on the side.

"Can you stop looking at me like I've grown a third eye and just answer me you dickhead," Keith says while he hits Lance constantly.

Lance laughs loudly and falls on his back, Keith on top of him. Keith stops hitting him, discarding the pillow and laying over Lance, who places his hands on Keith's face, his thumbs tracing the sharp jawline and moving to his cheekbones. It is an intimate moment, the delicate caress that Lance gives him, his eyes filled with something akin to infatuation, but more than anything, love. It is not the first time Lance has looked at Keith this way, and it will definitely not be the last, but being able to express that out loud makes Lance's insides swing. His head is filled with a million thoughts and blankness at the same time, but when his eyes fixate on the galaxy that is Keith's eyes he can't help but feel that this time, it feels right, truly right. He revels in the faint blush on Keith's cheeks, the way he bites the corner of his lips, waiting for Lance to say something.

"I'm not leaving," Lance finally tells him, unable to drag the inevitable. "I am staying. With you."

Keith's eyes widen and although he smiles, he takes another pillow and smothers Lance, who bursts out laughing and trying to get Keith off him.

"How dare you not tell me before?! You asshole, I don't even know what I see in you," he hits Lance in the head. "That's it, I don't like you anymore, you jackass!"

Lance catches Keith's wrist and pulls him against his chest, smiling wickedly; Keith stops for a second, frowning, but with a smile in his face.

"How could you not tell me before?" Keith pouts.

"I didn't have the time," Lance confesses, scratching his neck and avoiding Keith's gaze. "I also didn't think you would actually forgive me. But I am really sorry Keith," he says, smoothing the pad of his thumb over Keith's cheek. "I shouldn't have said those things or treated you that way. I promise that will never happen again."

Keith sighs, giving him a hint of a smile.

"Don't make promises that you can't keep, loverboy." He leans into Lance's touch, feeling impossibly tender. "We will keep making mistakes, but probably you more than me."

"Babe, don't lie to yourself like that," he presses his hand in the curve of Keith's lips and resting his other hand on his hip. "We both know you can't resist me."

"In your dreams, McClain," Keith says, but he takes Lance's face in his hands and kisses him softly.

Lance sighs, kissing Keith back, pulling him close and melting in Keith's cold hands. He captures Keith's mouth, both moving against each other as if it is the last moment they are spending together, and Lance is reminded of their last night together. This time, however, he is not going anywhere, so he takes his time to kiss Keith softly, delicately, filled with all the love he has wanted to convey since they were teenagers. They move slowly, without any rush, more intimately than those times where they would hide behind the bleachers or when they would rush in case Shiro caught them in Keith's room or Keith's kitchen. Lance takes his time, pulling Keith on top of him once again, his legs slotting against Keith's, wrapping his arms around Keith's waist. Keith, ever the impatient little shit is, runs a hand through his chest, toying with the hem of Lance's sweaters and wastes no time in removing the item of clothing. He deepens the kiss, moving his tongue next to Lance's and making him go crazy with the sensation. As much as Lance would love to take his time with the build-up, he is also a sucker for Keith's whimpers and his impatience, so he gives in and grinds against Keith, earning a groan from him.

They kiss and wreck each other for a while until Keith breaks apart, his lips red and swollen, his pupils blown wide, the lust evident in them; he wears a smile on his face, almost devious as if he is keeping a secret. Lance stares at him, properly looks at him, how gorgeous he looks with his hair ruffled to every direction, his deep blush on his cheeks, his lustful eyes, and his mischievous smile. He relishes on how ethereal he looks over him, a hand resting on his stomach, the other on his thigh, and it probably shouldn't be as hot, but it does it for Lance. He takes it all in, taking a deep breath, a smile on his lips as well.

"Are you really staying? With me?" Keith asks, just a hush above the sound that comes from the TV. "Are you not going to run away from me?" He whispers, crawling from his lap to get close to him again. "Or will you leave me again, loverboy?" He mutters over his lips and Lance can feel his hands creeping under his shirt. Lance inhales sharply, his mind working a thousand miles per hour as Keith stays there, their lips touching but no real intention in them.

"I'm all yours, samurai," he mutters back, capturing his lips on his own.

Their pace is slow, sloppy, but feverish in a way that drives Lance insane, his thoughts becoming a bubble that bursts every time Keith rocks against him or murmurs sweet noises to his ear. Although they touch each other softly and delicately, as if this moment is just a dream, they hold each other close, tight even, consummating the reality that they face. Lance’s chest swells with the feelings he has harbored even before leaving, it swells with all the love he has always threatened to spill, and this time Keith accepts it willingly, readily. He kisses him hard as if the idea of him not doing so would mean his death. They make out slow, sloppy, but all the emotions they share are not to be taken lightly, for Lance is bleeding out in the open and he doesn’t think he has ever felt something so blissful in his life.

When they separate to get air, Keith looks at him as if he was the eighth wonder of the natural world, as if just his presence lights up his world. They are both panting, their chest moving up and down evenly and even though it should be sexier than funny, they burst out laughing.

"We really are stupid, huh?" Keith says after minutes of laughing. Kosmo has his head resting on the couch, looking at them curiously.

"Speak for yourself, darling," Lance says, lifting up his chin, but with no bite behind it; "I am incredibly smart."

"Says the guy who literally blames himself for everything," Keith says, looking at Lance fondly as he caresses Lance's cheekbones with the pads of his thumbs.

"Yeah, that's on me," Lance sighs, pulling Keith close to him and nibbling his ear. Keith laughs, burying his face on his hair.

"I think this is the wrong time to say this, but," he says, serious and Lance looks at him, confused. Keith sighs but smiles nonetheless. "I love you, Lance. You deserved it then and you deserve it now."

Lance's eyes widen, but the biggest smile spreads across his face. He throws his head back and laughs, his chest filled with giddiness and happiness alike. He kisses Keith once again like his life depends on it. He doesn't know how or when, but Keith pulls him to the door far inside the hallway, never breaking apart, his thumbs on the hooks of Lance's pants. This time they kiss harshly, rough, desperate to pour all the words they have inside their heads and let each other know just how much they care about each other. Lance grips Keith's waist tightly, running his hands through his now loose hair, engraving the sensations and the noises in his memory. Keith pulls apart and goes to lock the door and Lance bursts out laughing.

"I think we are pretty safe if you locked the front door," he says, looking as Keith makes sure that the door won't open, exasperated. "Unless you plan to kill me, that is."

"It's not that," Keith complains, and when he turns around, Lance basks in the deep shade of red the other man carries on his cheeks, crossing his arms above his chest. "I just don't want Kosmo to watch you ram me against the mattress."

He says it like it is the most obvious thing in the world, calm and relaxed, but Lance almost chokes on his own, the words hitting him heavily. One thing is just to go with the flow, but another thing is understanding what is happening consciously. Lance chuckles awkwardly, slightly embarrassed, but Keith doesn't give him time to think about anything else when he pushes Lance to the bed, settling himself between his thighs and taking his shirt off. Lance looks at him in awe.

"Eager, aren't we?"

"Fuck off, Lance."

Their lips crash once again, and this time they set up a pace made for each other. Lance discards his shirt and Keith wastes no time in exploring his chest, his hands caressing each and every corner, fold, and line in his body; he presses his palm above Lance's nipples and he moans softly. Lance grabs his thighs and squeezes them softly, earning a low groan from Keith. They kiss, bite, and take as much as they can, their bodies flowing together in a sense of unity. Lance ravages Keith in a cacophony of sweet pleading, Lance's name leaving Keith like a prayer, a mantra that he repeats over and over until they reach their climax. Lance venerates, every sound, every response, embedding in his memory every single second of this moment; when Keith's eyes meet his, he feels relief, and the knot in his chest dissolves. For the first time in quite a while, he knows he is going to be alright. 

Keith kisses him softly, his arms wrapped around his middle, a pleased smile on his face with sleepy eyes that lay low on his lips. Lance smiles at him and presses his lips on his forehead; he closes his eyes and sighs deeply. Before he drifts off to sleep, that precious moment of relaxation, all he thinks about is this. Staying. With Keith. 


End file.
